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^/illi. m Penn. 



Stories of Pennsylvania 



SCHOOL READINGS FROM PENNSYLVANIA HISTORY 



JOSEPH S. \yALT()N, Ph.D. 

Professor ok History, State Normal ScHoor., West Chester, Pa. 
AM) 

MARTIN (;. BRUMBAUGH. A.M., Ph.D. 

Professor of Pedagogy, University of Pennsyiaanta. 
AND President of Juniata College 




NEW YORK:CINCINNATI:CHICAGO 

AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY 

1897 



Coi'YKIC.HT, 1897, W^' 

AMERICAN r.OOK COMPANY 






STORIES OF PENNSYLVANIA. 



PREFACE. 



PENNSYLVANIA, in many respects the most important of 
^ the original colonies, has an unwritten history. This vohime 
is a series of sketches, taken chiefly from our unwritten history, 
but typifying ahiiost every important phase of our growth. 

The basis of all the incidents rests upon the best authority. 
In most cases the Colonial Record ;, the Pennsylvania Archives, 
and the collections of the Pennsylvania Historical Society have 
furnished the data. 

Most of the sketches deal with colonial life., because the indi- 
vidual, the hero, for whom the young have most regard, grows less 
prominent in the increasingly complex social and institutional life 
of the state. The reader will prize all the more his own rich 
social, political, educational, and religious environment after be- 
coming familiar with the struggles of an ancestry not so highly 
favored. The complex life of to-day will be more clearly com- 
prehended from a view of the initial fjrces producing it. 

Four sincere and noble classes united to build up the common- 
wealth : — 

William Penn and the Quakers, bringing from England, Wales, 
Holland, and (jermany a sturdy and pious body of citizens united 
by a common religion ; 

The Germans or Pennsylvania " Dutch," attracted to the ]irov- 
ince by the peace principles of the founder, and a zeal to establish 
homes in a land of civil and religious liberty ; 

The Moravians under Zinzenlorf, carrying the Bible to the 
Indians, and living a community Hfe, singularly devoted to the 
welfare of the humblest and poorest of their faith ; 

5 



The Scotch- Irish, earnest, aggressive, and fearless, det}-ing nil 
restraint ani fearing no hostile neighbors, pushing to the frontier 
with farm and school and church, and training by hardship their 
sons for heroic ser\ice in the siate. 

The common tie wliich held all these diverse elements together 
was religion. While Penn and his German allies were in the 
m jority the peace poHcy of the Quakers dominated the life of 
the colony. The fostering, fro n conscientious motives, of the 
n«>n-combative spirit made Pennsylvania notably conser\ative in 
offensive movements. This infliie ice prevailed until the close of 
the stniggle for indej)en.lence, a strangle th t brought new forces 
to the front ami createil a m jre aggressive i)olicy. It was this 
newer influence thai »»rginized the state under the Constitution 
and place i Penn.>ylv.mia in closer touch with her sister states. 

Border friction i>etween the colonies, and especially between 
the frontiersmen md the Indians, mide Pennsylvania rich in In- 
dian tales. Here wealth of stmrces made selection and rejectiom 
the task in presenting this phase of colonial life. 

The authors have <-onsrio:isly o-nitted much that is alrealy 
familiar, or within easy rcich of the reader. Special effi>rt has 
been made to present the less fimiliar but by no mems less 
important incidents in the development of our state. For this 
reason no life of Penn is attempted, and Franklin's career is not 
treated. With such familiar names as West, Muhlenberg, Logan, 
Dickinson, Morris. Decatur, Girard, Meade, Hancock, Kane, Ful- 
ton, Perr>-, Taylor, Reed, Buchanan, Blaine, and many others, 
ever)' teacher is acquainted. 

The illustrations are almost without exception historically cor- 
rect. Many of them are for the first time presented to the pulilic. 
In their preparation the authors owe a debt of gratitude to Julius 
F. Sachse of the Pennsylvania Historical Societv, whose wide ac- 
quaintance ifc-ith the histor>- of our commonwealth is abundant 
proof of their value. 

It is hoped that this Httle volume will arouse an inteUigent and 
abiding interest in the histor)- of the grand old Keystone State. 



CONTEXTS. 



Before the Coming of Penn. _ ^_ 

The Naming of Pennsylvania o 

Penn in Holland and Germany i - 

Tohn Humphrey »_ 

w . '*•■'/ 

The Trial of '"the LA>ng Finne " . ^ . . ->-• 
Penn and the Qlakekj. 

Sally Brindley's Letter 2- 

William Penn's Manor House ....... -i 

Bartram's Garden .... 

The Walking Purchase -.n 

The- Germans in Pennsylvania. 



The Voyage of the Sura Ma 



ria 



4i 



Conrad Weiser and the Indians . . ;; i 

The Last of the Kelpians ■•■...-% 

The Pious Schoolmaster on the Skippack • - . . . 6i 

The Greatest Books of Colonial Pennsvlvania . . . . ^r 

Peter Miller 1^^ 

THER Pioneers. 

The Moravians . » -. 

Count Zinzendorf in the Wyoming ....... -q 

^ The Log College S-' 

The Natives «^f Pennsylvania. 

Justice to the Indians ••••..... S- 

Eliza Cartlidge ••■••.... go 

Standing Stone . oj 

A Dog Feast at Standing Stone ^; 

Troubles on the Border. 

Cressap's Capture qp 

Captain Jack, the Wild Hunter of the Juniata . .10- 

Regina ,0- 

Sawquehanna, or ■• the White Lily " H2 

Washington and the Half King 116 

Captain Stobo ......... 126 



The Half King at Aughwick . 

Paxinosa ...... 

Colonel James Smith at Fort iJuquesne 

How a Cow's Tail saved Jane Maguire 

Connolly's Plot .... 

Captain Ogden and the Penn\ mite War 

Mary (^uinn and the Great Runaway 

Opontopos, or " Little White Head " 

Thompson the Captive 
Incidk.nts of the RevolutiOxNaky War. 

Carpenters' Hall .... 

The Philadelphia Tea Party 

Rodney's Ride .... 

The Old Liberty Bell . . 

The First Fourth of July Celebration 

Captain Percy at the Battle of tlie Bran 

Washington and Lafayette's Escape 

General Anthony Wayne . 

Wayne's Camp at Yellow Springs . 

Light-horse Harry .... 

Wayne's Letters to his Wife 

A Good Man suffers for his Religion 

Narrow Escape of Lieutenant Tilly . 

Uncle John's Letter to his (irandson 

One of the Doan Boys . 

After the Wyoming Massacre . 
Later Incidents. 

Rev. Manasseh Cutler in Philadeli)hia 

Franklin entertains Mr. ( "utler 

Grays Ferry Inn 

Tom the Tinker .... 

Charles Baptiste .Ariel, or "Old French Cluir 

The Old Pike 

Founders of the Free Schools . 

A School in the Early Ua.s . 

The Undergrt)und Railroad 

Rachel Harris and the Undergroun.l Kailroad 

William Parker and the Underground Railroad 

Lincoln's Midnight Ride through Pennsylvania 

Reynolds at Gettysl)urg ... 

In the Rear at Gettysburg . . . . 

William Pcnii's Burial I'lace . . . . 



STORIES OF PENNSYLVANIA 



J>«^c 



BEFORE THE COMING OF PENN. 



THE NAMING OF PENNSYLVANIA. 

EVERY child of Pennsylvania loves the grand old 
state. Her soil, her history, and her name are 
sacred. The land was given to William Penn, son of 
Admiral Penn, by Charles II. of England, who owed 
William's father 16,000 pounds sterling for services 
against the Dutch. To pay the debt the king gave 
William a large tract of land in the New World. Penn 
decided to name this land New Wales, but the king's sec- 
retary, a Welshman, struck it out. Penn then suggested 
Sylvania, because it was a great forest (the Latin for 
forest is sylva). The king said, '* No ; I shall call it 
Pennsylvania." 

WilHam Penn sailed for this great land in 1682, and 
every one knows how he came to Chester, and then to 
Philadelphia, where he made a famous treaty with the 
Indians under the old Elm of Shackamaxon. As we think 
of this solemn meeting, let us remember that the Elm 

9 



lO 

Treaty was never broken. The Indian never forgot his 
pledge to Penn, whom he called " Brother Onas," and the 
great Quaker leader never broke his faith with the red 
man. 

To most of us, Pennsylvania is known as the Keystone 
State. There are four reasons given for the adoption of 
this name : — 




Penn's Treaty. 



(i) If you look at a map of the thirteen original states, 
you will notice that they form an irregular arch. Penn- 
sylvania is located at the center of this great arch, and 
may be called for that reason the Ke\stone of the Arch of 
States. 

(2) In the early days Pennsylvania was the most im- 
j^ortant state in foreign trade. Hundreds of vessels 



spread their white sails to the breezes of the Delaware 
River, and Philadelphia was the greatest center of trade 
in the New World. It may be that Pennsylvania was 
given the title of Keystone State because of its commer- 
cial prominence. 

(3) Before the year 1800 a French major, L' Enfant by 
name, laid out the city of Washington as the capital of 
the nation. The stones for the new capitol building were 
not all needed, and some of them were used to make a 
bridge over Rock Creek, a small stream flowing between 
Washington and Georgetown. 

Thirteen stones of the arch were visible, and the cunning 
Frenchman carved on the faces of these stones abbrevi- 
ations of the names of the states. " PA." was cut on the 
central or key stone, and some claim our state is called the 
Keystone for this reason. It is probable that L' Enfant 
chose this stone for Pennsylvania in honor of the position 
and importance of the state, and in honor of the part 
Pennsylvania took in the adoption of the great Declaration 
of Independence. 

(4) July I, 1776, the Declaration of Independence was 
reported to the Continental Congress. The patriots knew 
that our country could not be free and independent unless 
the Declaration was adopted. The final vote was delayed 
three days to give Franklin and Samuel Adams a chance 
to bring Pennsylvania into line for the measure, and to 
give Caesar Rodney time to ride from his home in Dela- 
ware to cast his vote and his state's vote for freedom. On 
July 4th, Delaware was ready to vote, and the roll was 
called. All the states voted "Aye," until Pennsylvania, 
the last state, was reached. 



12 



Five of her delegates were present. Franklin and 
Wilson voted "Aye," Humphreys and Willing voted "Nay." 
Here was a tie. John Morton was outside, listening to a 
crowd of friends who were begging him to vote " Nay." 
The president, John Hancock, began to talk, and did not 
stop until he saw Morton enter the hall Then Morton's 

name was called, and he 
voted " A\c." Thus for four 
days the noble men of that 
Congress had been building 
the great arch of human 
liberty, and John Morton's 
vote made Pennsylvania 
"the Ke\'stone of the Arch 
of Liberty." 

The next day, John Adams 
of Massachusetts, almost 
wild with joy. wrote to his 
wife these words : — 

" The dav is past. The 
fourth of Julv, 1776, will be 
a memorable epoch in the 
history of America. I am 
apt to believe that it will be 
celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anni- 
versary festival. It ought to be commemorated as the 
day of deliverance by solemn acts of devotion to God 
Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with pomp, shows, 
games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and illuminations, 
from one end of the continent to the other, from this time 
forward forever." 




The Morton Tablet. 



13 



PENN IN HOLLAND AND GERMANY. 

HAVE you ever wondered why so many Germans came 
to Pennsylvania in the days of Penn ? We think 
of William Penn in England, of the voyage on the good 
ship Welcome, of the great treaty, and of Penn in his 
own colony ; but we too often forget that Penn was in 
Germany as early as 167 1, preaching the religion he loved, 
and winning honest men to the church of his choice. 
Again, in 1677, he traveled over Europe with Keith and 
Fox and Barclay, preaching the principles of peace to a 
war-weary people. 

It was this great missionary journey that made Penn 
a power among the Germans and Pennsylvania a refuge 
for so many of them. In this important mission no other 
man was so loyal and so helpful to Penn as Benjamin 
Furly, the merchant and scholar of Rotterdam. 

Furly was born April 13, 1636, and at twenty-four 
became a merchant in this quaint old city of Holland. 
He married Dorothe Graigne, and their home was a 
refuge for scores of learned men. He collected a fine 
library of rare books and rarer manuscripts. His home 
was a welcome resort for such men as Le Clerc, Limbroch, 
Edward Clarke, John Locke, and Algernon Sidney. The 
last of these, in his will, gave to his friend Furly a fine 
silver goblet. 

Early in life Furly became a Quaker, and he was the 
first man in Europe to urge and aid Dutch and German 
families to go to America. He often spoke in the Quaker 
meetings when it meant imprisonment to do so. He was 



14 




Penn and Fox at a Quaker Meeting in Furly's House. 



even bold enough to write to the magistrates of the city, 
demanding of them protection for the pious people of his 
faith, who met in silence to worship God according to the 
dictates of their own consciences. This letter closes as 
follows : — 

"At Rotterdam the eighth day of the month which we 
call July, 1675." 

Two years later, when Penn and his c^iipanions landed 
in Holland, Benjamin Furh' was the first man to greet 
them, and it was in his home that they were entertained. 
From here they set out to preach the gospel and to invite 
all oppressed people to the New World. On this great 
journey up the Rhine and through the Palatinate, Furly 
was their fellow-traveler and faithful interpreter. To him 



15 

Penn submitted his famous Frame of Govermnent for 
advice and correction. Furly, in advising Penn, wrote 
the first protest against slavery in America. Read the 
words of this great forerunner of Garrison, Whittier, Mott, 
Phillips, and Lincoln: — "Let no blacks be brought in 
directly. And if any come out of Virginia, Maryland, 
or clscv.-hcrc in families that have formerly brought them 
elsewhere let them be declared (as in ye west jersey 
constitutions) free at 8 years end." 

Furly aided in founding the great Frankford Company; 
and it was the agent of this comp:iny, Francis Daniel 
Pastorius, of Germantown, a German Quaker, who wrote, 
in 1688, the first protest against slavery ever drafted on 
this side of the Atlantic. Who will say that P\niy w^as 
not the hero who moved Pastorius and the Up de Graffs 
to take this noble action .^ 

Penn and his company landed in Holland July 26, and 
in seven days, at Amsterdam, was held the first Yearly 
Meeting of Friends on the Continent. What a meeting this 
was ! Dutch Quakers from' at least six cities of Holland, 
and German Quakers from as many cities up the Rhine, 
heard William Penn and George Fox, Robert Barclay and 
George Keith, preach the peaceful gospel of a godly life. 

Here, too, Penn learned that far away to the east, 
where the sluggish Vistula mingles with the Baltic, in 
Danzig, Poland, the seeds of the Quaker faith had been 
planted in true hearts by William Ames. Persecution 
soon tried the souls of the converts. The defender of 
Vienna, John Sobieski, who in 1683 sent the Turks flying 
to the east, was King of Poland. To this great leader 
Penn wrote, pleading for his brethren: — 



i6 

"O King! When did the true religion persecute? 
Were not her weapons prayers, tears, and patience ? Can 
clubs and staves, swords and prisons and banishments 
reach the soul, convert the heart, or convince the mind 
of man? In 1576 there sat on your throne, Stephen, 
who declared, 'I am king of men, not of consciences; 
king of bodies, not of souls.' " 

Earnest words were these. Sobieski's reply is lost. 
It would be of great interest to know what the conqueror 
of the Turk had to say in reply to the noble Penn. 

The cruel Count of Bruck had a pious daughter, who 
was anxious to meet Penn. The village schoolmaster 
carried word to the countess of Penn's desire to convey to 
her "the message and testimony of truth." A meeting 
was arranged for Sunday in the house of the village 
preacher at Muhlheim. As Penn was passing the castle 
to reach the place of meeting the pompous count came 
out for a walk. When he saw that Penn and his company 
did not remove their hats, he became angry, called his 
soldiers, and ordered Penn and his followers to be driven 
out of the country. Late at night they came to Duisburg. 
The gates of the city were closed. Penn and his compan- 
ions were obliged to sleep out in the open fields. They 
arose at three o'clock and began to speak again of "the 
great and notable day of the Lord dawning upon Germany," 
and were glad to suffer for religion's sake. 

At Cologne Penn ])reached to Docenius, the minister of 
the King of Denmark, and the minister's heart opened. 
He followed. Penn to Rotterdam and the Hague. In 1783, 
Docenius wanted to remove to Penn.s\ Ivania, but his wife 
put an end to this by saying, — " Let well enough alone. 



17 

Now I can ride in a carriage from house to house. In 
America, who knows but I should have to look after cattle 
and milk the cows ? " 

It was no small task to preach and suffer in a strange 
land. Penn did this so nobly that he won the love and 
gratitude of many Germans and Hollanders. With them 
he always kept his word as sacredly as he did with the 
Indians. It was a great moment in Penn's life when he 
faced the Indians unarmed under the Shackamaxon Elm. 
It was a greater moment when he preached his way into 
the hearts of the Germans along the Rhine. 

This is why Pennsylvania became the most important 
German settlement of the New World. The true history 
of their mutual love and helpfulness is the unwritten story 
of the rapid growth of the grand old Keystone State. 



)>©<c 



JOHN HUMPHREY. 

OTHER, mother, won't thee tell brother Charles and 
me about Uncle John ? We could listen to thee 
tell about him all evening." 

Mother Hannah sat down before the roaring fire of 
hickory logs. Charles and his sister were on the floor, 
with their arms in mother's lap. In a few minutes the 
other boys gathered around until eight eager faces made 
up her audience. The baby was asleep in the cradle, and 
Father Daniel Humphrey sat near, reading from a big, 
worn, leather-backed Bible. 

"Remember, children," said the mother, "that John 

W. AND B. — 2 



M 



Humphrey was your great-uncle. He and Grandfather 
Samuel lived in Wales. At that time they did not have 
the comforts we enjoy here in Merion. If five Friends 
over sixteen years old were found in meeting together, they 
were in danger of being arrested and taken to prison." 

" I wouldn't have gone," said Charles, with flashing- 
eyes ; '* I'd fight first." 




Merion Meeting House 

"Nay, my son," said Mother Hannah, "thy temper 
should not rule thee. Friends believe that love and kind- 
ness can do more than guns and blows. 

" In 1661, at Glwvn Grivill, the officers came and drove 
all the j^eople out of a meeting where Uncle John was. 
Our dear Friends were forced into a penfold by the high- 
way side, where men were drinking and swearing. The}' 
scoffed at the Friends, calling them Quakers, and asked if 



the little dog which followed them was the spirit which led 
them. Because the Friends held their peace, saying not a 
word, their persecutors grew more angry and drove them 
two miles by the seashore, slapping them with their 
swords and forcing them to trot before their horses. 

*' It was the intention to take them to an island or sand 
bank in the sea, and there keep them over night in order 
to have them together for a drive of twenty-four miles the 
next day to a prison where some Friends were already 
confined. 

"The officers had no warrant for the arrest of our 
Friends. Some of their neighbors rode up that night on 
horseback and demanded the warrant for such an arrest. 
When the papers could not be produced, the prisoners 
were allowed to go home. 

** Not long after this, Uncle John dreamed that his 
brother Samuel, who was your grandfather, children, was 
in jail with three other Friends, and the keeper placed 
meat before them, saying that whether they ate or not he 
would make them pay. 

" In those days the prisoners were charged a big price 
for everything they ate. If they were in jail very long, it 
often took all their property to pay the jailer's bill. 

** Uncle John took out his notebook and wrote down 
the day and hour of this dream. Not long after this, word 
came that Grandfather Samuel and those three Friends 
were before the jailer the same day and hour that Uncle 
John had his dream. Uncle John also heard that the 
jailer had threatened to starve them into eating his meat, 
that he might have the profit of their keeping and there- 
fore put off the day for trial. 



20 

" * This dream,' said Uncle John, ' is the Lord's doings.' " 

" Why was Grandfather Samuel in jail ? " asked Charles. 

** Because he refused to take the oath in court and 
declared that our Savior has said, ' Swear not at all,' " said 
Father Daniel, who had been listening for some time. 

** Why should the law make people swear.?" asked 
Charles. " I have heard thee say that we should never 
swear." 

** I know, my son, I have. The law thinks that an oath 
will force men to tell the truth ; but, my boy, we should 
always tell the truth, and the day is coming when a man's 
simple affirmation will be accepted in any court in the 
land. 

"Because your grandfather and these men would not 
swear, they were put in irons and chained together two 
and two, with their hands bound on their backs. In this 
manner they were driven twelve miles through the storm 
to a prison. Here they would have starved had not some 
of us who were at home carried meat in biskets to the 
jail. When the keeper was away, we put chunks of meat 
on the end of a long pike and stuffed them through a little 
hole in the wall." 

** Why didn't thee shoot the jailer, father.?" 

" Indeed, my boy, I was often sorely tried. But let me 
tell thee it takes a braver man to keep his temper than to 
fight. We high-mettled Welsh were just learning Christ's 
blessed lesson of peace. The magistrates told us if we 
would give up our meetings they would not disturb us. 
Some of the weak-kneed ones wanted to give up the meet- 
ings, or at least hold them in secret. 

"When your grandfather got out of jail, several of us 



21 

with Uncle John consulted together. We concluded that 
we would die before we would give up our meetings. One 
Sabbath we were having a precious meeting. Uncle John 
had spoken. Many hearts were touched and many eyes 
were moist. Suddenly the doors were flung open, and a 
party of men, cursing and swearing, rushed in with swords 
and staves. They broke up the meeting and drove us all 
off to the magistrate. 

" There was a young girl with us who began to cry. 
She said that her mother was a cripple, alone in bed, and 
could do nothing for herself. If the house burned down, 
she could not get out. The magistrate was a kind man, 
but he said he dare not show any tenderness, because the 
people would say he was not faithful to the law. He told 
us that this was the second offense, and the third time 
meant banishment. If we would pay the fine and promise 
to hold no more meetings, he would let us go." 

" Was thee there, father ? " asked Charles, eagerly. 

" Yes, I was there, my son, and it was hard at times to 
keep still ; but the mercy of the Lord prevailed. When we 
were sent to the Quarter Sessions for trial, six justices sat 
on the bench. They mocked and scoffed at us, saying, 
' Here are the Quakers. Now we'll make 'em quake ! ' 
Uncle John's hat was seized by one of the crowd and 
flung into the air. Soon all the plain hats were thrown 
from our heads. Then Evan Ellis, in a loud voice, told 
the magistrates that they took more delight sitting in the 
seat of scorners than on the bench of justice and judg- 
ment For this, and the oath which we all refused to 
take, we were sent to jail. 

*' It was now late, and the county prison was a long 



22 

way off, so we were shut up in a close room. That night, 
by the light of the moon, both the sheriff and the justices, 
save one, came before the door and made merry over us. 
They were all drinking to the king's health, and demanded 
the keeper to open the door. Then they offered us some- 
thing to drink. They threw the liquor in our faces and 
spat upon us. They got a fiddler and kept up a commo- 
tion nearly all night. 




Going to Quaker Meeting in Colonial Days. 

** Uncle John whispered to me to remain still. The 
spirit of submission worketh wonders. I was young, and 
grew violently angry, but through the mercy of God was 
spared from striking a blow. I resolved then and there 
to leave Wales and England forever. After serving out 
our time we were released from jail. 

** These are but a few of the things, my children, which 
led the Welsh to leave their dearly-beloved homes in old 
Wales and come to the land of William Penn. 



"^3 

'* We bought this great cract west of the Schuylkill 
and south of the hills which bound the Great Valley on 
the north. Here we are very thankful for our many 
blessings." 



THE TRIAL OF "THE LONG FINNE." 

MANY years before William Penn came to America 
"the Long Finne," a Swede, lived on the banks 
of the Delaware, then called the "South River." The 
Finne was tall and strong, and loved his people well. He 
could remember when only the blue-eyed, light-haired 
Swedes lived on the banks of this beautiful river. But 
now (1660 to 1669) things were changed. First came the 
Dutch and took the government from the Swedes, then 
came the English (1664) and took the government from 
the Dutch. Long Finne sorrowed when he saw his peo- 
ple quietly submitting to these invaders. 

" This country is mine," he said. " There is royal 
blood in my veins ; I am born to rule. Was not the great 
Connigsmarke of Sweden my father .? Shall I fold my 
arms and let these English and Dutch rob my people of 
their own ? Never," said the Long Finne. " Lll arouse 
the Swedes. There's Henry Coleman ; he's rich and well 
known ; he will help me stir the Swedes to rebellion. The 
fair daughter of poor old Governor Printz will also lend 
me aid. The preacher at the little Swedish church en- 
courages me. Soon all the Swedes will arise, and we'll 
drive out these Dutch and English, and the west bank of 
the river shall be mine." So thought the Long Finne as 



24 

he stirred up rebellion in and below Upland (now Ches- 
ter). Governor Lovelace, in behalf of the Duke of York, 
governed at that time on the " South River." He heard 
of the Long Finne and his much talking. 

''This must be stopped," he said. "We must get this 
tall Finne into prison." Men were sent with irons to 
take him. The Long Finne was surprised. He looked 
for his many friends. Henry Coleman, the rich man, had 
fled and hid himself among the Indians. Armgart, the 
Swedish governor's daughter, sent him no hjlp. The 
preacher said not a word. The Long Finne found him- 
self without friends, surrounded by an English sheriff and 
his men. 

" Lay down thy gun. Long Finne," they said. " We 
have brought irons to take thee to prison." And before 
the proud Swede could strike or run they wer^ riveting 
irons on his ankles, and irons on his wrists, and chaining 
them together. They carried him away and threw him 
into jail. During the beautiful autumn; the Long Finne 
looked wearily out between the iron bars in his little win- 
dow, or rattled his chains, as the long dreary hours wore 
away. Little did he know that he was to be tried for his 
life before an English court on charge of stirring up a 
rebellion. Already Governor Lovelace had written to 
England for advice. The wise men had decided that the 
Long Finne deserved to die ; but, fearing lest all the 
Swedes might rise up to avenge his death, they con- 
cluded to have him whipped in public, and the letter " R " 
burned into the skin of his face, and stitched into the 
breast of his shirt. Then he was to be sent to Barbados 
and sold as a slave. 



25 

Having first decided in secret what his sentence should 
be, the EngUsh brought Long Finne out of his jail into the 
court room for trial. This was on the 6th of December, 
1669. 

When the Long Finne came in, he was the tallest man 
in the court room. The irons on his ankles rubbed him 
sore, but he held up his head like a free man. He heard 
a tipstaff call out, " Oyez, oyez, oyez ! silence is com- 
manded in the court whilst His Majesty's Commission are- 
sitting, upon pain of death." Then they read several 
papers which Long Finne did not understand, except the 
names of His Royal Highness, the Duke of York, and 
the Right Honorable Francis Lovelace, Governor. He 
scarcely knew his own name when he heard them read- 
ing *' Matthew Hinks or John Binkson or Marcus Con- 
nigsmarke." When they called out, inviting any one 
who had anything to say against the prisoner to speak 
now, the Long Finne leaned forward and listened, while 
his eyes rested on a big crack in the floor. Then the 
jury was called. " Twelve good men staunch and true " 
were ordered to stand up, one by one. If Long Finne 
nodded his head, the man was told to step into the jury 
box ; if he shook his head, another and another man was 
called, until the Long Finne did nod. Finally twelve men 
were chosen, and the trial commenced. Long Finne was 
ordered to stand up before the bar, and a man in a loud 
voice called out, "John Binkson, what hast thou to say 
for thyself ? Art thou guilty of the charge or not guilty.?" 
And then the Long Finne raised his blue eyes to the 
court and said, " Not guilty." 

"By whom, then, wilt thou be tried.?" said the judge. 



26 

And Long Finne, straightening himself to his full height, 
said, — 

" By God and my country." 

"Then God give thee a good deliverance," the judge 
said, and commenced calling witnesses to tell what they 
knew about the Long Finne's doings and sayings. 

Long Finne listened, and wondered whether he had said 
all that they told about him. Finally the jury was ordered 
to go into another room and agree among themselves, 
from what they had heard, whether Long Finne was 
guilty or not guilty. In a few minutes these twelve men 
all marched back again, one after another, and stood up 
before the court. Long Finne looked into their faces for 
mercy, but saw no mercy. 

After the trial, the sheriff led Long Finne out before 
the people, and, after tying his hands to a big ring in the 
bottom of a post, whipped him across the back. Then 
the sheriff took a red-hot iron and scorched the letter 
" R " on his face, and with needles stitched a big " R " on 
his shirt. 

He was then taken on board a ship called the New 
Albany, and with the .same chains which the blacksmith 
riveted upon him when he was captured in the fall, he was 
now sent to Barbados and sold as a slave. 

This was the first important trial under English rule on 
the Delaware. 



PENN AND THE QUAKERS. 



SALLY BRINDLEY'S LETTER. 

THE following letter was written by Sally Brindley of 
Bucks County, Pennsylvania, to her grandmother in 
England : — 

The Manor, Bucks Co., Pa. 

The 28th of nth mo., 1685. 
Dear Grandmother : 

Mother has been writing to thee since last fifth day, 
and she told me I could put a sheet into her letter. We 
want to get it off on the ship which sails from Philadel- 
phia about the loth of the twelfth month. 

Our new house is all done ; I wish that thee could see 
our big kitchen. It has a fireplace entirely across one end 
of the room. Father brings the backlog in with the horse, 
and when the boys pile wood up against it, such a fine 
fire as it does make ! 

We have so much wood. Father says that we should 
be rich if we had this timber in England. I gather chips. 
We had a grand time this fall roasting chestnuts in the 
ashes. I have four quarts dried. The new house is built 
of logs and nicely plastered inside. We'll be cozy and 
warm this winter. There is room in the fireplace for 

27 



28 

Fatht^r's big chair and Mother's rocker. There is a 
bench on the other side of the fire for us children. 

There is a little narrow window near the chimney where 
the spinning wheel stands. I've learned to bake cakes 
on the coals. We have a Dutch oven now. I wish thee 
could have seen our garden this summer. Besides the 
rows of sage, and camomile, thyme, comfrey, and rue, 
with yarrow and some onions, we have great big love 
apples [tomatoes]. They are almost as large as an apple. 
They grow on a bushy plant which starts from a seed in 
the spring. Uncle James found them last summer among 
the Indians. He brought some of the seed home. 

Mother says they are poison if we eat them ; but I 
guess nobody would want to eat them. They are just 
pretty to look at. The men dug a long winding ditch 
around the meadow bank this fall. It will carry the 
water along the side of the meadow so they can let it out 
to run all over the bank. It keeps the grass very green 
and pretty. 

We have so many horses and cows that are not ours. 
Father is Ranger now, and takes up all the strays. Thee 
don't know about this, does thee ? Well, everybody here 
lets his cows and horses run loose in the woods. Some- 
times they don't come back and it takes a long time to 
find them. 

We heard of a little girl this fall who got lost while 
hunting for the cows. Dark came on, and she heard 
the wolves howling. It was very late when she found 
the cows all huddled together. Her father found her the 
next morning fast asleep alongside the bell cow. She 
was safe and sound. I'm glad I wasn't that little girl 



29 

All the cows here have /^ /^ 

earmarks. William Penn's (/ (/ His ear marke 

M IJ cropped on both ears. 

COWS have this mark. I tr -^ 

copied it from Father's big book. Here are some more 

copied by brother Thomas. It must hurt the cows to 

have their ears cut. 








John Eastburn. Henry Paxson. Thomas Stackhouse. Anthony Burton. 

I also find this in the book ; Father put it in 
last summer: *' Att the fall of the year 1684 
there came a long-bodied young bb cow with 
this ear marke. 

*' She was very wild, and being a stranger, after publica- 
tion, none owning her, James Harrison att the request of 
Luke Brindley, the Rainger, wintered her, and upon the 
23rd. of the 7th. month 1685 sd cow was slaughtered and 
divided, two thirds to the Gournr. [Governor] and one 
third to the Rainger, after James Harrison had 60 lbs. 
of her beef for wintering of her att j of" (10 shillings 
sterling). 

So thee sees we have plenty of meat. We have 200 
shad that were caught last spring and salted. Some of 
them are very big. The boys were out hunting yester- 
day and brought in two wild turkeys. We'll have one 
for dinner on first day, and we'll keep the other for 
monthly meeting. 

Oh, Grandmother, thee should see the crowds of people 



30 

who come here to dinner monthly meeting days ! We 
have to put two tables together to seat them all. We have 
white bread then. Common times we eat rye bread and 
corn pone. We learned how to make pone at Cousin 
William's, in Maryland. 

Mother has school for me every day. She is the 
teacher and I am the scholars. I am head of my class. 
Father says that if I keep on doing that well he will 
send me to England to school when I get big. Then I'll 
see thee, Grandmother, and the dear old place I love so 
well. There is no more room on the paper, so I must stop. 

With lots of kisses and two pats for dear old Rover, 
I am thy affectionate granddaughter, 

Sally Brindley. 

P.S. — Here is a picture Aunt Lucy drew. It is Father 
and Mother and Aunt Lucy going to meeting. 




31 



WILLIAM PENN'S MANOR HOUSE. 

IN 1681, before William Penn left England, he ordered 
William Markham and James Harrison to select a place 
for a country residence. Penn expected to spend the re- 
mainder of his days in the new country. A large tract 
of land within the present limits of Bucks County, oppo- 
site Burlington, New Jersey, was selected. This was an 
attractive spot, lying within *'the great bend" in the Del- 
aware River, and near the falls. Penn thought it very 
desirable, since it was near the large Friends' Meeting 
at Burlington. 

James Harrison took charge of the property, and super- 
intended the building. When Penn came here to live, 
in 1699, he found a large brick house, facing the river. 
The bricklayer came from England, and the bricks, it is 
thought, were burned from clay dug at the Manor. The 
house was sixty feet long and thirty feet wide, with a red 
tile roof. A large water tank made of lead was on the 
top of the house. This tank in time grew leaky, and so 
damaged the house that it yielded to age long before the 
other buildings which were erected at about the same time. 

The first floor was divided into four large rooms with a 
wide hall running through the middle. "There was a 
handsome porch, front and rear, with steps having both 
'rails and banisters.' " 

On this back porch Penn was in the habit of entertain- 
ing his important guests during public occasions. The 
parlor on the left was separated from the large dining 
room by a wainscoted partition. On the other side of the 



32 



hall a room probably opened into the great drawing room. 
There was also a small hall and a closet (a little living 
room). 

Upstairs there were four rooms, one called the " best 
chamber," containing the curtained bedsteads. The silk 

quilt covered a bed as 
high as a child's head. 
In this room were "a 
suit of satin curtains " 
and " four satin cush- 
ions." Six cane chairs 
stood along the walls, 
two of them having 
" twiggin bottoms." A 
tall looking glass com- 
pleted the furniture. 
Since carpets were 
scared)' ever used in 
luigland, it is most prob- 
able that there were no 
carpets at Pennsbury. 
I In the ne.xt room was 
a " suit of camblet cur- 
tains," with a " white 
head cloth and tester." The nursery on the same Wnov had 
"one pallet bedstead " and "two chairs of Master John's." 
A small entry and a "closet " (Mrs. Penn's private room) 
were all that remained on the second floor. All the rooms 
were nine feet high. In the best parlor were " two tables, 
one pair of stands, two great cane chairs and four small 
ones, seven cushions, four of them satin, the other three 




33 



green plush, one pair of brasses, brass fire shovel, tongs 
and fender, one pair of bellows " and *' two large maps." 
In the other parlor was a leathern chair, which, no doubt, 
was used by William Penn himself. 

The secretary which now stands in the Philadelphia 
Library was, doubtless, a part of the furniture of this 
room. The old clock stood in the great hall, where a long 
table was used when public business was to be transacted. 
"Two forms of chairs " were standing around the table. 

In the ''eating room" were damask 
tablecloths and napkins, and a suit of 
Tunbridge ware, besides white and blue 
china. For common use there was pewter 
ware, and for especial occasions the best 
plate was used, including silver forks and 
a tea set. The greater amount of house- 
work was done in small outbuildings. 
These were near the manor house, and 
probably all in a straight line, since Penn 
wrote that he wanted them " uniform and 
not ascu " (askew). 

In this group was a " kitchen, two lard- 
ers, a wash house, and a Milan oven for 
baking." These buildings were one and 
a half stories high, and were so situated 
that they would not obstruct the beautiful view of the 
river. A board walk led from the house to the boat land- 
ing. A row of poplar trees was planted on each side of 
the walk. White gravel was taken from a pit near by to 
make the numerous winding paths which Penn caused to 
be laid out amono^ the forest trees. 




lock. 



— 3 



34 

The grounds were terraced from the house down to the 
river's edge. Beautiful gardens with English flowers 
added to the attractiveness of the spot. Several gardeners 
from England were sent over to work on the grounds. 
They planted the orchards and the shrubber\-, and at 
Penn's orders transplanted the most beautiful among the 
wild flowers into the gardens. In Maryland, Penn pur- 
chased many trees belonging to a more southern climate, 
and had them planted among the native trees. It was his 
intention to have " the neck " fenced off into one i reat 
park. 

There were stables on the manor large enough to keep 
twelve horses. Penn was fond of fine horses, and brought 
over from England the best stock. For twenty years 
scarcely one hundred acres of the estate were cleared. 
In 1685, Penn wrote his steward to ** lay down as much as 
you can in hay dust." This hay dust was, no doubt, grass 
seed, since he writes to his steward another time that " the 
hay dust from Long Island, such as I sowed in my court- 
yard, is best for our fields." 

In those days there were few houses in America like 
Pennsbury. Visitors thought it a privilege to be shown 
over the house and around the grounds. The Indians 
who came there from time to time to hold councils with 
their Brother Onas, would walk around and silentlv gaze 
at the house until some old chief would shrug his shoul- 
ders and say, " One big wigwam." 

The influence of William Penn had much to do with 
the rapid advance of agriculture in the province governed 
by him, and his manor served as a model for many other 
colonial homes. 



35 




'he Bartram House. 



BARTRAM'S GARDEN. 



Wee. modest, crimson-tipped flowY, 

Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 

For I maun ^ crush amang the stoure ^ 

Thy slender stem : 
To spare thee now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonnie gem. — Burns. 

'HE Ayrshire Plowman" is not the only farmer 
whose heart was touched and whose life was called 
to noble deeds by the daisy. It was this simple, lovely 
flower that called John Bartram from his plow and made 
him the greatest botanist in America. Linnaeus called 
him **the greatest natural botanist in the world." 
1 must. - dust. 



T' 



36 

"John and Ann Bartram, 173 1." These words, cut 
deep in a stone of the old farmhouse on the Schuylkill, 
near Philadelphia, suggest the story of Bartram's home. 
He bought the ground in 1728, and at once commenced to 
erect a beautiful house of cut stone. Watson says he 
built it with his own hands. Around the quaint house he 
laid out a large garden, which was, after Dr. DeWitt's, 
the first botanical garden in the New World. It contains 
seven acres. 

John Bartram was- a Quaker farmer. He told Hector 
St. John how he was taken from the plow and sent over 
the New World to learn, better than any other Ameri- 
can of his day, the b^^autiful and valuable story of the 
plant world. 

" One day I was very busy in holding my plough (for 
thou scest I am but a ploughman) and, being weary, I ran 
under a tree to repose myself. I cast my eyes on a daisy ; 
I plucked it mechanically and viewed it with more curi- 
osity than common country farmers are wont to do, and 
I observed therein many distinct parts. * What a shame,' 
said my mind, or something that inspired my mind, * that 
thou shouldst have employed so many years in tilling the 
earth and destroying so many flowers and plants without 
being acquainted with their structure and their uses ! ' " 

He took his horses to the barn, and, against his good 
wife's wish, went to Philadelphia and purchased a botany 
and a Latin grammar. A schoolmaster taught him in 
three months to read Latin. Then he read Linnaeus's 
Treatise on Botany. " I began to botanize all over my 
farm. In little time I became acquainted with every 
vegetable that grew in my neighborhood, and next ven- 



37 



tured into Maryland, living among the Friends. In pro- 
portion as I thought myself more learned, I proceeded 
farther, and by a steady application of several years I 
have acquired a pretty general knowledge of every plant 
and tree to be found on our continent." 

In the following years, till his death in 1 771, he went 
everywhere in search of rare plants and fossils. He 
published in 1751 Observations made in his Travels from 
Pennsylvania to Ononeiaga, Oszvego, aiiel Lake Ontario. 

This was the first book 
of travels written by a 
native American. At 
great risk he went 
among the Indians and 
studied the plant life at 
the head waters of the 
Delaware, Schuylkill, 
Susquehanna, and Alle- 
gheny rivers. At greater 
risk, in his old age he 
explored the whole of 
East Florida, and trav- 
eled many thousand 
miles in Virginia, Caro- 
lina, and West Florida. 
From all these trips he 
returned to plant in his 

famous garden every new and rare specimen he found, 
and to report his discoveries to the world through his 
learned friend, Peter Collinson of London. 

This garden is now owned by the city of Philadelphia, 




Cypress in Bartram's Garden. 



38 



and is under the care of the great University of Pennsyl- 
vania. It contains more rare trees and shrubs than any 
other spot in America. A magnificent cypress, now more 
than a hundred and fifty years old, is more than thirty feet 
around, and towers majestically one hundred and twenty 
feet high. Near it is a Norway spruce and a magnolia, 
each nearly a hundred feet hii;h. Here, too, is the inter- 




Cider Mill in Bartram's Garden. 

esting old stone cider mill of John Bartram, hew^n out of 
the solid rock. 

John Bartram's son WilHam was the first professor of 
botany in the University of Pennsylvania, and the warm 
friend and helper of Alexander Wilson, the Scotch school- 
master, whom William Bartram fired with love for forest 
and bird, a love that drove Wilson for eight years, from 
1804, into the secret haunt of humming bird and oriole, 



39 

and produced the great work on birds — American Orni- 
t J 10 logy. 

John Bartram was a quiet, good-natured, and charitable 
man. He wrote many works on plants in a little second- 
story room of his famous house, and cut with his own 
hands in the stone outside the window that overlooked his 
beautiful garden and faced the quiet Schuylkill, these 
words : — 

'Tis God alone, the Almighty Lord, 

The Holy One by me adored. — John Bartram, 1770. 



)>«Kc 



THE WALKING PURCHASE. 

EDWARD MARSHALL was a famous hunter on the 
Delaware. One day the sheriff of Bucks County 
sent for him. 

** Edward," he said, **we want three good men to walk 
out the Indian purchase. Five hundred acres of land and 
five pounds in cash will be given to each man. Will you 
go } " 

Edward Marshall was examining the flint on his trusty 
rifle. 

"I never liked an Indian," he said; "they think no 
white man can hunt. They will lie. They drink too 
much rum. Yes, I'll go. When do we start .^ " 

"At sunrise, the 19th" (September, 1737), said the 
sheriff. " I'll be there with the other men." 

"Before starting," remarked Marshall, "tell me where 
we set out, and what are the terms of the treaty." 



40 

"Well, it's just this way," said the sheriff. *' In 1682, 
Markham bought for William Penn all that land lying 
between the Delaware River and Neshaminy Creek as far 
back as Wrightstown." 

"Yes, I've heard of that," replied Marshall. "The 
northern bounds of Markham's purchase started on the 
Delaware at a spruce tree marked with the letter P, and 
ran northwest along the base of the mountain to a white 
oak standing by an old Indian path which led to their 
towni of Playwickey. You remember that Playwickey 
was near the head of Towsissinck Creek. From this oak 
tree the line ran west to the Neshaminy Creek." 

"I know all about that," said the sheriff. "But if we 
start from that old chestnut tree on the Durham road, just 
above Wrightstown meeting house, that will be fair enough, 
won't it .'* " 

" Fair } " said Marshall. " Anything's fair enough for an 
Indian. You'll be along horseback to furnish provisions, 
will you .'^ " 

"Yes, I'll be there to see that everything is done in an 
honest and square manner. The further you can walk in 
the day and a half, the more land we will secure. There 
will be two other walkers, James Yeates and Solomon 
Jennings, and also three Indian walkers, to see that every- 
thing is done fair." 

"As many as you like," said Marshall, "but I'll show them 
that Ed Marshall can outwalk the crowd. I'll put the In- 
dians off the Minisink lands. I'll cross Leahay [Lehigh 
River] water and the hills beyond, before noon on the 20th. 
I'll follow the trail made in '35 [1735] when we made the 
trial walk; I've been there before, I know what I can do. 



41 

Ed Marshall can go further now than then. I'll make the 
Indian say ' Ugh ! ' more than once when he sees me walk." 

By daylight on the morning of the 19th, a crowd of 
curious men and boys, including some Indians, were stand- 
ing around the chestnut tree at Wrightstown. The In- 
dians were sullen and quiet ; Marshall, Yeates, and Jennings 
stood with their hands upon the tree, whose spreading 
limbs seemed to say, " Be just. There's room for all. 
Remember Shackamaxon and William Penn." 

Nobody heeded the murmur in the branches. As soon 
as the first beams of the sun shone full upon their faces, 
the sheriff said, " Go." 

Yeates took the lead with a light and easy step. Jen- 
nings came next with two of the Indian walkers. Quite 
a distance behind Jennings came Marshall, walking in a 
careless manner and swinging a hatchet. He wore thin, 
loose moccasins, and carried a few light biscuits. Part of 
the way was in the bed of the old Durham road, but the 
path of the trial walk was mostly taken, which followed 
the course of the compass in almost a direct line north- 
west by north. A straggling crowd of people followed 
on horseback. 

** Yeates will outwalk all of them," said the surveyor 
general. 

" No, he'll not," said the sheriff. *' Marshall will be 
walking when the others are dead." 

The rule was that all the streams were to be forded 
except the Lehigh River, where the men might use a boat. 
The walkers were not allowed to run and jump over a 
creek, unless they first walked to its edge. It is supposed 
that they followed the Durham road until they reached 



42 

the old furnace on Durham Creek. In two and a half 
hours after starting they came to Red Hill in Bedminster. 
Dinner was eaten in a meadow. That afternoon they 
crossed the Lehigh River below where Bethlehem now 
is, at what has since been called Jones Island. The In- 
dians grew dissatisfied, and declared that they were being 
cheated. They frequently called out to Marshall to walk 
and not to run. Jennings gave out about eleven o'clock 
that morning, and lagged behind with the curious until 
they reached the Lehigh. It has been said that he never 
regained his health. 

The Blue Mountains were crossed at Smiths Gap in 
what is now Moore Township, Northampton County. That 
night the walkers slept on the north side of the mountain. 
It was twilight when they stopped. This was to make up 
for the time lost while eating dinner. W'hen the sheriff 
shouted to the walkers, " Pull up," Marshall clasped his 
arms around a sapling and leaned against it. 

"What's the matter .^ " asked the sheriff. 

** Matter!" gasped Marshall; "if we had gone ten rods 
further, I'd have given out." 

The Indians went off that night and danced at a " can- 
tico." At sunrise the next morning they all started again. 
It was not long before poor Yeates fell into a creek at the 
foot of the mountain. It is said that when he was picked 
up he was quite blind. He lived only three days. 

Marshall alone held out until twelve o'clock, noon, 
September 20th. He was then on the north side of 
Pocono Mountain. Here five chestnut trees were marked 
with the names of the proprietors. This spot was sixty- 
one miles from Wrightstown. 



44 

A line was now to be drawn from this point to the 
Delaware River. The Indians expected that it would be 
drawn to the nearest point on the river. The surveyor 
genera], in the interest of the proprietors, said that it 
must strike the river at right angles, and then drew it to 
the mouth of the Lackawaxen. All land east and south 
of the angle made by these lines was thus secured by 
Thomas and John Penn. This took away from the In- 
dians their celebrated hunting grounds on the Minisink. 
These were located in the forks of the Delaware and the 
Lehigh rivers. The Indians said that they never intended 
to sell that land, and much trouble arose from the way the 
line was drawn. 

The Indians never forgave Edward Marshall for the 
part he took in the walk. Their cruel scalping knife 
robbed him of his wife and many children. One of the 
little Marshall boys escaped by crawling under some bee- 
hives. The Indians never thought of looking there for 
him. 

After this, Edward Marshall, like Captain Jack of the 
Juniata, gave his time to killing Indians. 

The days of William Penn were no more. 



THE GERMANS IN PENNSYLVANIA. 



THE VOYAGE OF THE SARA MARIA. 

THERE were Germans in Pennsylvania before Penn 
founded Philadelphia ; but the first great band of 
religious people from Holland and Germany to make 
Penn's land a refuge from persecution, came in 1694, 
a dozen years after the Quakers had laid out the beauti- 
ful city on the Delaware. Their leader, John Jacob Zim- 
merman, died in Rotterdam just as the company were 
ready to sail. His widow and children continued with the 
company and went to London. Johannes Kelpius now 
became the leader of the pious band. On February 13, 
1694, they crowded upon the Sara Maria, a vessel of 
fourteen guns, commanded by Captain Tanner, and sailed 
for America. 

One of their number kept a diary, from which we learn 
that they "set out to spread the belief in Jesus Christ." 
They were earnest Christian people. They found no 
freedom of worship in the Fatherland, and came to 
Pennsylvania to live pure lives and to teach all others to 
do the same. They called themselves Pietists. Some 
called them Kelpians, after their leader. Kelpius was 
a college graduate, and won his Master's degree for a fine 

45 



46 



essay on theology. Most of the party were scholarly 
men, trained in the best universities of Europe. They 
had a long and dangerous voyage before them. What 
we call King William's War was raging in Europe, and 
the Atlantic was dotted with hostile war ships. 




The Hoofd-poort at Rotterdam. 

(From The Great Exodus to London, copyright, 1897.) 

Every emigrant who embariced at Rotterdam for England or America passed through 
the portal at the right. 



These Pietists had scarcely entered the British Channel, 
when a furious storm swept their vessel towards the rocks. 
The anchor was dropped. The storm drove the vessel 
against the anchor, which broke, knocking a great hole 
in the side. The storm increased, and the vessel was 
driven upon a hard sand bank. There was a great crash. 
The sailors, in despair, cried out, " Commend your souls 
to the Lord ; we shall go down." 



47 



The crew and passengers threw themselves upon their 
knees, and prayed for about an hour. Then, suddenly, 
Johannes Kelpius called to the captain, " Do not fear; the 
Lord will deliver us." 

" What reason have you for saying this ? " cried the 
captain. 

** I have had three in- 
ward promptings of the 
spirit," answered Kel- 
pius. 

Then came a most 
furious wave, and, con- 
trary to all rules, the 
vessel was lifted from 
the bank and carried 
to a safe place. They 
reached the Downs on 
the 2 1 St and secured a 
new anchor, repaired 
the vessel, and sailed 
out into the great ocean. 
Every day the Scrip- 
tures were read, and the 
company joined in songs 
and prayer. 

On the loth of March, 
three \'essels were 
sighted bearing down upon the Sara Maria. They carried 
white flags with lilies on their folds. ** They're French," 
cried a sailor, and a ship race for life was on. The boom- 
ing of cannon and the shouting of men told of a deadly 




The Sam Maria. 

(Copyright by J. F. Sachse, 1895.) 



48 

struggle. Finally, Captain Tanner called all his German 
passengers on deck, and they and the sailors gave a 
mighty shout. The sight of so many people on the Scu'a 
Mai'ia scared the French, and they sailed away. Again 
Kelpius and his followers fell upon their knees and gave 
thanks to the Lord. 

On June 12, at about ten o'clock in the morning, an 
eclipse of the sun filled the sailors with fear, and caused 
even the stoutest hearts to tremble. Eclipses then were 
not so fully understood as now, and many people thought 
an eclipse was a visitation from God to punish people for 
wrongs that they had done. 

Two days later the good vessel was floating peacefully 
in Chesapeake Bay. The German passengers disem- 
barked, marched overland to the Delaware River, and 
sailed up to Philadelphia. It was the afternoon of June 23 
when they left the vessel and crowded upon the slop- 
ing shore. They held a short religious service, and then 
walked two by two through the village of less than five 
hundred houses. 

What a strange sight ! They were unlike any other 
people in Philadelphia. Some were dressed in a coarse 
pilgrim's garb ; others wore the dress of university stu- 
dents ; and still others, the dress- of the provinces in 
Germany that they had left. The place had no town 
hall, no court house, no prison, and no churches save the 
Quaker meeting houses. 

The Quakers asked, " Who are these peculiar people in 
strange attire and of foreign tongue .** " The reply was, 
** They are German students, seeking a home in a reli- 
gious community, on their way to Germantown." 



49 

They called on Governor William Markham and took 
the oath of allegiance to the crown of England, and ex- 
plained their reason for coming to the colony. 

When evening shadows began to creep across the 
Schuylkill, they marched quietly to Fairmount Hill and 
gathered a pile of dry leaves and brushwood. A spark 
was struck with flint and steel, and soon a bright flame 
leaped skyward, lighting the sober faces of those standing 
around, and throwing a strange gleam upon the trees near 
by. It was St. John's eve. They were celebrating an old, 
old custom, the " Sanct Johannis." Into this fire were 
thrown flowers, pine boughs, and bones. Then the embers 
were rolled down the hillside as a sign that the longest 
day was passed, and that now the sun, like the embers, 
would gradually lose its power. On Christmas eve the 
same rite was observed, only the embers were cast up into 
the air to signify the rising power of the sun as the days 
grew longer. You have all seen little tapers on the 
Christmas trees. These are a relic of the old rite of 
" Sanct Johannis." 

The next morning was the Sabbath. Before the sun 
shone on their path the Kel plans were on their way to 
Germantown. Here they found a hearty welcome. 

It was not long before they began to build a home on 
the Wissahickon Creek. Here in quiet and seclusion they 
worked and worshiped. Kelpius had a cave in the hill- 
side, in which he often prayed alone. Their house they 
called " The Woman of the Wilderness," and upon its roof 
day and night some of their number stood observing the 
changing heavens. They were looking for the coming of 
the Lord. With prayer and patience they watched for 

W. AND B. — 4 



^o 



signs of His coming. And He came ! Not, indeed, as 
they thought, with sound of trumpet and clouds of angels ; 
but in the still, small voice that gave them spiritual com- 
fort and nobleness of life. 

These Pietists had much to do with the religious life 
and mode of worship in early Pennsylvania among the 




On the Wissahickon — Solitude of the Kelpians. 

Germans. Kspeciallv at Ephrata and Snow Hill, near 
Waynesboro, they had jDious and earnest followers, and 
ever\'where in German Pennsylvania the influence of the 
Kel})ians is still plainly to be seen. They are little known 
to the people of the United States, but the Sara Mai'ias 
pilgrim band must be counted with the W'clcoincs and the 
Mayflower s in numbering the men that made America 




Conrad Weiser s House. 



CONRAD WEISER AND THE INDIANS. 



SUGAR CREEK was rushing wildly toward the river 
Susquehanna. The Indians called the water Os'- 
co-hu(the Fierce). A warm south wind had been blowing 
for several days. It was worth a man' s life to cross the 
stream. Conrad Weiser said that the Indians had well 
named it. 

It was the 28th day of March in 1737. Conrad Weiser, 
the great Indian interpreter of Pennsylvania, was on his 
way to the Onondaga council fire. The governors of Vir- 
ginia and of Pennsylvania had sent him to see whether 
he could make peace between the Six Nations (Iroquois) 
of the north and the Catawbas and their allies in the 
south. 



52 

While war lasted between the northern and the south- 
ern Indians, the white man could not push his settlements 
into the mountain valleys of Virginia and Pennsylvania. 
Both great confederations of Indians insisted that the 
paths must be opened from the north to the south. If 
any man could settle the old, old quarrel between these 
Indians, it was Conrad Weiser. The work was so impor- 
tant that he was forced to start at once. It was the worst 
season of the year for traveling. The streams were high, 
the snow soft and deep, and provisions among the Indians 
scarce. At Shamokin (Sunbury) he found the Susque- 
hanna River so high that the Indians could not get the 
horses across. Weiser and his companions were com- 
pelled to leave them and go on afoot. The provisions and 
camping outfit must be carried on their backs. By the 
time they reached Sugar Creek their supply of provisions 
was almost exhausted. They had grown weak from 
hunger and exposure. An Onondaga Indian told Weiser 
that there would be plenty to eat as soon as they came to 
the Susquehanna River. On the strength of this fact 
Conrad emptied the meal bag that morning. When their 
scanty breakfast was over there was nothing left. The 
Oscohu was rising rapidly. Its wild waters leaped the 
great rocks in frantic glee. About ten o'clock the men 
came to a place where Shik-el-li'-my, the guide, said they 
must cross the stream. They cut down a long pine tree, 
hoping that as it fell it would form a bridge upon w^hich 
they could safely cross the foaming torrent. 

The tree was a trifle too short. The raging water caught 
it and swept it away. The Indians wanted to wade over, 
each man holding to a long pole. Conrad Weiser said 



53 




that the water was too deep and swift. He pointed to the 

rocks and showed them where it had raised a foot since 

they began cutting the pine tree. 

They knew not what to do and 

could come to no agreement. A 

gnawing hunger had destroyed 

their good humor. 

There were three Indians and 
two white men in the party. 
Stoffel, a German from Berks 
County, accompanied Weiser. In 
addition to the guide there were 
two Onondaga Indians, one a war- 
rior on his way home from the 

, -1 i.1 /^ ^ 1 Conrad Weiser. 

war trail among the Catawbas. 

This Indian did not like Conrad Weiser. He did not wish 

peace with the southern Indi- 
ans. He still wanted revenge. 
Now when Weiser refused to 
wade the stream, the warrior 
said to Stoffel, " It all your 
fault. You tell Onas [they 
called Weiser, Onas] not to 
do what Indian advise. You 
want to starve us all. Your 
scalp would be better than your 
tongue. There's enough of us 
without you." 

" If our brother," said Weiser, 
" was in a better humor and had had a better breakfast, 
he would not pick a quarrel with Stoffel. Who carried 




Conrad Weiser's Wife. 



54 

the meal bag during the past week? Who cut down the 
pine tree? Who does the work when lazy Indian sit down 
and growl? Why, Stoffel did all this, and much more. 
We need Stoffel." 

"You stand up for Stoffel," said the warrior, "because 
he is a worthless white man like yourself. You know very 
well that he tell you not to wade the stream. Stoffel's 
a coward, and so are you. You can both stay here and 
starve. Indian will cross stream on. a raft. No white man 
can tell an Onondaga anything in the woods." 

"Stay thy foolish tongue," said Weiser. "The stream 
is too swift, and the rocks too treacherous ; they would 
surely split and overturn any raft that w^e could make." 
Then turning to the guide, who had not spoken, Conrad 
said, " So far I have done as you said ; now I want you to 
do what I say. We will go on down this stream until we 
find a good crossing, even if we go to the Susquehanna 
River." 

"You don't know how far it is," said Shikellimy, the 
guide. " It can't be done. I know the path. You don't. 
You and your compass have never been here before. 
Shikellimy has. I am the guide. If you don't cross 
here, I will tell Thomas Penn and James Logan of your 
foolishness. If you starve, no one must blame Shikel- 
limy." Then Ta'-wa-gar'-at, the warrior, leaped to his 
feet, and after some moments' silence said, "An Onon- 
daga never takes advice from a white man. He know no 
paths in the woods. He no guide. He's a squaw among 
the pine trees." 

Then Conrad Weiser said that he was going to find a 
better crossing, no matter how far it was. They might 



55 

stay or follow, just as they wished. He would be his own 
guide, and responsible for his own life. He picked up 
his pack and started. Stoffel followed at once. The 
Indian who had not spoken quietly gathered up his things 
and followed Stoffel. Shikellimy, the guide, looked at 
Tawagarat for some time ; not a word was spoken. Then 
he slowly arose and followed the other Indian. The 
proud warrior was left alone. 

A mile down the stream Weiser found a good crossing. 
In an hour and a half a raft was made of dry pine, and 
the men got safely over. A gun was fired that the warrior 
might come, but he was too proud. 

Late that night he came into camp very wet and tired. 
He said that he had made a raft, but the swift current 
dashed it into pieces, and he was thrown upon an island. 
After some time he waded from the island to the shore 
through water up to his armpits. The Indians all thanked 
Conrad Weiser for his good counsel and his bold actions. 
After this they thought more of him than ever before. 
Some weeks later, when Conrad Weiser, at the great 
Onondaga council fire, pleaded for peace between the 
north and the south, his words had weight and influence. 

After the trouble about the crossing, Weiser's party 
came back to the reguhr trail, and followed it to the 
Susquehanna. Here thev expected food, but instead they 
found some starving Indians. Most of the able-bodied 
men were away hunting. The only food Weiser and his 
men could find was a thin soup made of corn meal and 
ashes, boiled separately and then mixed. Stoffel ate it 
with r.:lish, but Conrad Weiser gave most of his portion to 
the bony little Indian children, who stood silently watching 



56 

him eat, while tears rolled down their hollow cheeks. 
The three Indians ate so much of this soup that it made 
them sick. 

When Weiser asked some of the old men among the 
Onondagas why game was so scarce, they all sat in silence. 
"I was here twelve years ago," said he, "and you were 
all fat, and living in plenty. Why is game so scarce 
now } " 

A gray old Indian, whom the others called a wise man, 
finally looked up and said, '* I have had a dream, and the 
Great Spirit came to me, and I asked him the same ques- 
tion, ' Why is game so scarce } ' And the Great Spirit 
said, ' You ask me why game has become so scarce. I 
will tell you. You kill it for the sake of the skins, which 
you give for strong liquor, and drown your senses, and 
kill one another, and carry on a dreadful debauchery. 
Therefore have I driven the wild animals out of the coun- 
try, for they are mine. If you will do good and cease 
from your sins, I will bring them back ; if not, I will 
destroy you from off the face of the earth.' " 

At another time, some weeks before this, when Weiser 
and his party were working their way up Lycoming Creek, 
they came to a place where the valley was very narrow 
and the creek very crooked, so that they would have been 
obliged to wade the icy waters of the stream repeatedly, 
had they continued their journey in the valley. A council 
was held, and they decided that it would be better to climb 
along the mountain side. This was very steep, and the 
snow was hard and slippery. 

Shikellimy caught hold of a flat stone sticking in the 
root of a fallen tree. The stone came out, and at the 



57 



same time his feet slipped from under him. He fell on 
the hard snow at a place that was steeper than the roof 
of a house. There was nothing within reach, and he con- 
tinued slipping. A short distance below was a precipice 
over one hundred feet down to a pile of sharp rocks. 
When he was within half a rod of the edge, the pack, 
which he carried in Indian fashion with a strap around 
the breast, went one side of a sapling, and he on the 
other. Here he remained 
hanging for nearly half 
an hour before Conrad 
Weiser and his men 
could rescue him from 
his dangerous position. 

After the entire party 
had climbed safely down 
into the valley again, 
Shikellimy wished to go 
back and see where he 
might have fallen. When 
he came to the place and 
looked up to the cliff, 
and then down to the 
sharp rocks where he most surely would have been dashed 
into pieces, he stood silent for some time, and then said, 
'' I thank the great Lord and Creator of the world that 
he had mercy on me, and wished me to continue to live 
longer." 

When Conrad Weiser reached the Onondaga council 
fire, he found plenty to eat. The Indians treated him 
very kindly. They listened to his words, and looked 




Grave of Conrad Weiser. 



58 

upon him as a great man. They said that he was half 
Indian. The Six Nations agreed to come to the white 
man's council, and to keep their young men off the war- 
path until that time. 



>>«<o 



THE LAST OF THE KELPIANS. 



"London. July 20th, 1759. 
" I am concerned to hear poor Dr. Witt, my old friend, is blind. A 
well-spent life. I doubt not, will give him consolation and illuminate 
his darkness.'' 

— Peter Collinson to John Bartram. 

IT was in 1694 that the Pietists, or Kelpians, settled on 
the Wissahickon Creek, near Philadelphia. Believing 
the end of the world was near, they lived pious, single, 

and solitary lives, that they 
might be pure and ready 
when Christ came. Their 
numbers gradually grew less 
until a sole survivor re- 
mained — Dr. Christopher 
Witt, or De Witt, who came 
to the settlement from Wilt- 
shire, England, in 1704. 

Dr. Witt was a learned 
man. He was a graduate 
in medicine, was well versed 




Kelpius Cave. 



in religion and philosophy, and knew as much about 
plants as any other man in America. After his master, 
Kelpius, died, Dr. Witt removed to Germantown and 



59 

started a large garden — the first botanical garden in 
America. This garden is twenty years older than John 
Bartram's on the Schuylkill. 

He was also a skilled workman, and in the long winter 
evenings, when his favorite plants slept beneath a blanket 
of snow, Dr. Witt made the first clocks produced in Penn- 
sylvania, and so, no doubt, the first in America. They 
were made of brass and steel, ran for thirty-six hours, kept 
good time, struck the quarter hours, and were set on 
brackets fastened to the wall. They had no cases, and 
were called wall clocks. They were the pioneers of the 
famous high-case grandfather clocks so much prized at 
this time. They sold for about one hundred dollars. 

Dr. Witt was the builder of a large pipe organ, upon 
which he played with much skill, and he also made a fine 
eight-foot telescope through which he made better observa- 
tions of the comet of 1743 than the astronomers of Europe. 

He also practiced magic. He was believed to have 
power to cure sickness, remove all sorts of evil, and to 
talk to spirits. Many thought him a *' spook." To make 
matters worse. Dr. Witt went to Philadelphia and bought 
a slave. This slave, whom he named Robert, was a 
mulatto, with sharp, piercing black eyes, light skin, and 
curly hair. Some of his excited neighbors claimed that 
Robert was a "spook" that Dr. Witt had called from the 
graveyard. But Robert was a good servant, for all that, 
and did all sorts of housework for his master, and learned 
also how to make those wonderful wall clocks. 

When Dr. Witt was eighty years old, he paid a visit to 
his friend John Bartram, They walked together in Bar- 
tram's famous botanical garden. It was a sad walk for 



6o 

both. Bartram wrote of it to the great Peter Collinson 
in London, *' Poor old man ! he was lately in my garden, 
but could not distinguish a leaf from a flower." 

Close study and long hours of tedious work in his shop 
had cost the old man his sight, and the blind old doctor 
was led froni place to place by the faithful Robert. 

In the heart of Germantown is the old Warner burying 
ground. Strange stories were told of this place. Many 
persons thought it was haunted. They declared that at 
the ghostly hour of midnight unearthly creatures flitted 
about in the pale moonlight, some robed in white, some in 
black. These same people said that the bent form of 
Dr. Witt could then be seen slowly feeling his way up 
the hillside into the ghostly graveyard. Here he would 
mingle with the spooks till the clock in the little German 
church tower struck one, when lo! every spook would fade 
away, and the blind old doctor would slowly move down 
the hill towards his home. The good Robert Vv^ould meet 
him halfway, lantern in hand, and lead the lonely Pietist 
to his rest. 

These midnight meetings ceased in 1765. The pious 
old doctor, more feared than loved, and little understood, 
wr., laid to rest among the spirits of Warner Hill. After 
this the people called the place "Spook Hill." His neigh- 
bors thought that the night after his burial they saw 
strange blue flames dance around his grave. No one 
would go to Spook Hill after dark save Robert, the slave, 
who nightly went alone to watch by his master's grave. 

After the battle of Germantown, in 1777, many English 
and Hessians were buried on Spook Hill. There upon 
certain nights, it is said, a ghostly British officer, dressed 



6i 

in full uniform, mounted on a snow-white horse, would 
rise suddenly from the tombs, and gallop around the 
charmed graves, and as suddenly vanish into the air. He 
was Dr. Witt's sentinel, watching above the resting place 
of one that could not see ! 

Dr. Witt loved his slave, and treated him kindly. When 
his will was read, it was found that he had given Robert 
his freedom, and had besides given him a good home, 
"all tools, instruments, and utensils" for the making of 
clocks, a lot of bedding, his " great clock that strikes the 
quarters," and all his household goods. He also willed 
;^6o to the Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia. 

He had lived a quiet life of charity, and he died in 
peace, remembering to the last that it is more blessed to 
give than to receive, and closing with his life the career 
of the Kelpian Mystics in America. The Pennsylvania 
Gazette of February 7, 1765, contains this notice: — 

** Last week died at Germantown Dr. Christopher 
De Witt, a gentleman long and well known throughout 
this and the neighboring provinces for his great services 
and abilities in his profession as a physician." 



>i*ic 



THE PIOUS SCHOOLMASTER ON THE 
SKIPPACK. 

IN 1 714 there came to America from Germany a modest, 
kindly man named Christopher Dock. He was a good 
scholar, a devout Mennonite, a lover of children. It is 
said of him that he was never known to be angry. To 



62 



test him, a man once met him on the road and spoke 
vilely, shamefully, and profanely to him. Dock only said 
in reply, " Friend, may the Lord have mercy upon thee." 
In 1 718, or earlier, he opened a school on the Skij^pack 
Creek in Montgomery County. Here he taught for ten 
years with no regular pa)-. Then he bought a n.od^st 
home from John Penn for 15 pounds 10 shillings. For 
ten years more he farmed, teaching each of four )ears a 
three months' term at Germantown. In 1/38, led of the 
Lord, he gave up farming and opened two schools, one in 
Salford and one in Skippack, teaching three days of the 
week in each place. 

He caused the pupils in each school to write letters to 
those in the other, ana Dock was the postman from pupil 
to pupil. The letters were carefully written 
and usually told the progress of the stu- 
dent and asked for answers to Bible 
questions. This was Dock's 
composition class exercise. 
He made with his quill 
on small cards beautiful 
pictures of birds and 
flowers and vines from 
the Bible, called Sc//nff- 
tcii. Your father may have some of these in his grand- 
father's Bible. 

Dock's schools were famous among the Germans of 
the Schuylkill valley, and his Dunkcr friend, Christopher 
Saur of Germantown, the first man to print the Bible in 
America, persuaded Dock to write and print a description 
of his method of keeping school. Dock refused at first. 




One of Dock's Schrifften. 



63 

fearing it would be sinful to write anything in his own 
praise. His minister, Dielman Kolb, removed his scruples 
on this score, and Dock completed the work on August 8, 
1750. He then said he would not allow it to be printed 
during his lifetime, but nineteen years afterward, Christo- 




^::p3.^^jf^^ 



^,il a.:.J anLU /////Aw >n^^^„ Su)li^f,fk^f}^,.„^, l.J,:r,U^ 







From Dock's Primer. 



pher Saur's son won Dock's consent to print it. But the 
manuscript was lost. Dock wrote to young Saur, '' Do 
not trouble yourself about the lost writing. It has never 
been my opinion that it should be printed in my lifetime, 
and so I am pleased that it is lost." But a year later it 
was found and was published by the younger Saur in 1770. 



64 

This book is the first written and published in America 
upon school teaching. It is the only picture of a colonial 
country school. Let the book itself tell some of the pkms 
and purjDoses of this pioneer teacher and author. 

The new scholar is " hrst welcomed by the other 
scholars, who extend their hands to it." 

"If it cannot say the A B C's in order and point out 
with the forefinger all the letters, it is put into the A-b 
Abs. When it gets this far, its father must give it a 
penny and its mother must cook for it two eggs, because 
of its industry. 

" When they are all together, and are examined to see 
whether the\' are washed and combed, a morning hvmn or 
psalm is given them to sing, and I sing and prav with 
them. 

"Those who know their reading will have an O marked 
with chalk on their hands. This is a sign that thev have 
failed in nothing. If any one fails as many as three times, 
it is shown with a word to the scholars, and they all shout 
out at him 'lazy!' This shaming cry of the children 
gives them more pain and drives them to more study than 
if I should hold the rod before them and use it all the time." 

Christopher Dock also wrote A Hundred N'ccessary Rules 
for CJiildren. We have "^oova here for only thirteen of 
them. 

Rule i. Dear child, accustom yourself to awaken al the 
right time in the morning without being called, and ns soon 
as you are awake get out of bed without delay. 

Rule 4. Offer to those who first meet you, and to your 
parents, brothers and sisters, a good morning, not from 
habit simply, but from true love. 



65 

Rule 7. When you wash your face and hands do not 
scatter the water about in the room. 

Rule 9. When you comb your hair do not go out into 
the middle of the room, but to one side in a corner. 

Rule ii. Do not eat your morning bread upon the 
road or in school, but ask your parents to give it to you at 
home. 

Rule 12. Then get your books together, and come to 
school at the right time. Do not tear them, and lose 
none of them. 

Rule 24. At the table sit very straight and still, do 
not wabble with your stool, and do not lay your arms 
on the table. Put your knife and fork upon the right and 
your bread on the left side. 

Rule 61. To your fellow-scholars show yourself kind 
and peaceable, do not quarrel with them, do not kick 
them, do not soil their clothes with your shoes or with 
ink, give them no nicknames, and behave yourself in 
every respect toward them as you would that they should 
behave towards you. 

Rule 63. Keep your books, inside and outside, very 
clean and neat, do not write or paint in them. 

Rule 86. Accustom yourself to be orderly in every- 
thing, lay your books and other things in a certain place 
and do not let them lie scattered about in a disorderly way. 

Rule 97. Never go about nasty and dirty. Cut your 
nails at the right time and keep your clothes, shoes and 
stockings neat and clean. 

Rule 98. In laughing, be moderate and modest. Do 
not laugh at everything, and especially at the evil or mis- 
fortune of other people. 



66 

Rule 99. If you have promised anything try to hold; 
to it, and keep yourself from all lies and untruths. 

The last years of this good man's life were spent in the 
home of Heinrich Kassel, a farmer on the Skippack. It 
was Dock's custom, after the scholars were dismissed, to 
remain and pray alone. He did not come home one even- 
ing in the autumn of 177 1. A search was made, and he 
was found in the schoolhouse on his knees, dead. 



5j<KC 



THE GREATEST BOOKS OF COLONIAL 
PENNSYLVANIA. 

WHEN any one says in your hearing that the Penn- 
sylvania Germans were ignorant people, deny it 
boldly. They were the most learned settlers that came 
to America. As early as 1753, Dr. William Smith, who 
had no sympathy for these peace-loving Mennonites and 
Dunkers, wrote, ** They import many foreign books, and 
in Pennsylvania have their printing houses and their 
newspapers." 

Willem Rittinghuysen, in 1690, built the first paper 
mill in the colonies, on a branch of the Wissahickon 
Creek. 

Christopher Saur of Germantown was the first great 
printer in America. In 1743, thirty-nine years before 
the Bible was printed in this country in English, the 
Germans of Pennsylvania were reading the German Bible 
from the press of the learned Dr. Saur. The first 
speaker of the House of Representatives, F. A. Muhlen- 



67 



i 



BIRLIA, 





Mm 



^. 



?3Tir 






berg, and seven of the governors of Pennsylvania, had 
Pennsylvania German blood in their veins. 

The second great printing establishment in America 
was at Ephrata, Pennsylvania. Here and at Germantown 
many religious works, a newspaper, and a German almanac 
were printed and widely 
read. 

In Philadelphia, 
Frj.nklin early won fame 
as a printer. His Poor 
Richard's Almanac was 
extensively read in all 
the colonies, and its 
short but wise sayings 
are household words 
everywhere. But in the 
early days the Germans 
and the Quakers were 
more strongly attached 
to the books of their 
own people, books that 
defended their religion 
and increased the love of the 
their fathers. Hence it came to pass that a book now un- 
known, save in the older German families of the state, 
was in its day the most read of all American books, after 
the Bible. This greatest literary effort of colonial Penn- 
sylvania was the translating and printing, in 1748, of the 
Meiinonite Martyrs Mirror of Van Braght. 

Think of fifteen men, set aside by prayer, working 
three years on one book, and you have some idea of this 



hir^i'n eiimmarifii 



au*. 



^eruiontOtDlt;- 

Title-page of the Saur Bib'e. 
children for the church of 



68 



wonderful work. The original book first appeared in 
Holland in 1562. It gave the lives of many pious Men- 
nonites who suffered and died for their religion. It ran 
through twelve editions, but most of these books and 
their owners were burned by the persecutors in Europe. 
Some copies were brought to America ; but they were 

printed in Dutch, the lan- 



cet 



MMiy ^(p(!ll#(flfi 



mt 




^cprfoffn'^priitcii/ 

flfdtttn lMbm/lln^ |Voiit> flftD^trt iBPrtciv I'on SOmfti 3ntan 
bt» auf bo* 3>'')t '^<5o. 

Jipn T.J.V. BRAGIIT. 

ffra On fttifitnjlt tal fc^wtifiti itnfitt o* sgn ofhiuul m 




EPHRATAinPenfylvanien, 

t>ta(«ma>Scriaa^tognM'«#«ft- Anno MDCCXiym . 



guage of Holland, and 
many of the Penns)!- 
vania Germans could not 
read them. These pious 
Mennonites were op- 
;pi(gCli«^flUfftf®f|iriflir posed to war, and when, 

in 1744, the English and 
the French began to 
fight, these people saw 
that it would not be long 
before the sound of fife 
and drum would call men 
to arms in the colonies. 
The\' wanted their sons 
to love the church of 
their fathers. What could 
bring this about better 
than a careful reading of the Martyrs' Mirror? Here the 
young men would learn how cruel war is, how much holy 
men of their own faith had suffered for Christ's sake, and 
how true they should be to the faith of their fathers. Hut 
these young Germans could not read Dutch. 

Six good men wrote a letter to the Brethren in Amster- 
dam, beseeching them to have this Blocdig Toincel of 



Title-page of the Martyrs' Mirror 



69 



Tieleman Jans Van Braght translated into the German 
language. But the Dutch were, as usual, slow. No 
answer'' came for three years! In the mean time these 
Mennonites went to the Dunker settlement at Ephrata, in 
Lancaster County, and asked to have this great work done 
there. Conrad Beisscl, the 
founder of the Ephrata So- 
ciety, and a great scholar, 
agreed to undertake the 
task. He set aside fifteen 
men, with prayer and fast- 
ing. Peter Miller, the 
greatest linguist of colo- 
nial America, was placed 
in charge to translate the 
book. This unselfish man 
became so much inter- 
ested in the translation, 
and so burdened with the 
work, that for three years 
he did not sleep more 
than four hours a night. 

The type was set by four of Miller's assistants, another 
four ran the press, and the others made the pap ^r. In three 
years the great work was done. It contained fifteen hun- 
dred and twelve pages, printed upon strong, thick paper, 
in large typ-, in order, as was said in the preface, "that it 
may suit the eyes of all." It was bound in thick boards, 
covered with leather, with brass mountings on the corners, 
and two heavy brass clasps. 

The volume would be a load for any youth to carry. 




Peter Miller. 



70 

One thousand two hundred copies were printed, and in 
1754 five hundred were still unsold. The price was 
twenty-two shillings, about $5.50. It was sold at cost, for 
Peter Miller declared, "We do not propose to get rich." 

They did the work to 
honor God and to pro- 
mote religion. 

I'his book took a rather 
warm and strange part in 
the Revolutionary War. 
Paper was scarce. The 
soldiers needed "wads" 
for their guns. Two wag- 
ons and six soldiers came 
to Ephrata and carried 
off the remaining Martyr books. And so it came to pass 
that the book that was printed with so much care and toil 
and sacrifice to teach young men not to fight, was rammed 
down American muskets and sent flying after redcoats 
and Hessians. 

PETER MILLER. 




The Ephrata Press. 



IN the dark days of the Revokition, when General Howe 
was feasting in Philadelphia, and General Washington 
was starving at Valley Forge, a solemn-faced man, with 
bowed head and eyes to the ground, walked into the 
presence of the hero of Valley Forge. He was nearly 
seventy years old, and was one of the most learned men 
in America. He had walked all the way from his home 



71 



at Ephrata, in Lancaster County, to ask a favor of Gen- 
eral Washington. He had a right to ask a favor, for the 
man and his associates had nursed hundreds of wounded 
soldiers in their cloister at Ephrata, and he had, at the 
request of Thomas Jefferson, done what few scholars of 
his day could do. He had translated the Declaration of 
Independence into seven foreign languages and helped, in 
this way, to explain to the world the reason for the Ameri- 
can Revolution. He came to Washington to save the life 
of Michael Wittman, a man whom he had known many 
years. Wittman, however, had hated this man, whose 
name was Peter Miller, 
from the day that Miller 
joined the Ephrata So- 
ciety. One day Witt- 
man met Peter Miller 
as he was taking a load 
of paper from the mill 
to the press, and said, 
'' Is this the way they 
treat you, harnessing 
you up to a wheelbar- 



row 



? " and he spit 



m 




Peter Miller's House. 



Miller's face. He knew 
very well that it was 
against this pious old preacher's religion to strike back. 

Peter Miller waited in patience the time to act his part. 
That time had come. Wittman was arrested as a Tory, 
tried by a court martial, and sentenced to be hanged. 

Washington received Peter Miller gladly, and asked the 
cause of his long journey. 



72 

"General Washington," said Peter Miller, " I have come 
to ask you to pardon Michael Wittman. He is to be 
hanged to-morrow at the Turks Head" (West Chester). 

** My friend," said the great man, "this I cannot do. 
Wittman is a Tory. He has betrayed us. He even went 
to Philadelphia and offered his services to our enemy, 
General Howe. The state of public affairs is such that 
renegades must suffer. Otherwise," added the general, 
"it would give me great pleasure to release your friend." 

"Friend!" exclaimed Miller; "why, General Washing- 
ton, he is my most bitter enemy." 

" What," said General Washington, looking steadily in 
his friend's face, and with his voice strangely softened, 
" can you ask for the pardon of your enemy ? " 

" Jesus did as much for me," was the answer. 

Then Washington signed the pardon of Wittman, and 
placing it in Peter Miller's hands said, " My dear friend, 
I thank you for this example of Christian charity." 

All through the night, the legend tells us, Miller plodded 
his way to the Turks Head. As the sun broke over 
the quiet landscape all was confusion and excitement. 
Michael Wittman was led to the gallows tree, guarded by 
two soldiers. 

Just as the officer was preparing to place the rope 
around the guilty man's neck, there was heard a shout in 
the distance. The crowd turned quickly. The officer 
halted. The prisoner looked up. A man was seen has- 
tening through the crowd, right to the place of execution. 
He held in his hand and waved above his head a piece of 
paper. 

" Halt ! " said the runner. " I have a pardon here for 



73 



ii> 



Wittman, signed by General Washington." And so it 
was. Peter Miller had arrived just in time to save the 
life of his enemy. The crowd melted away. The officer 
folded the paper slowly as he returned alone to the jail, 
while Peter Miller took Wittman by the hand and led him 
forth from death, out under the bending trees, out into the 
clear sunlight. Without a word of rebuke, or once speak- 
ing harshly, he led Wittman 
across the hills, and through 
the valleys, until the Tory was 
again at home, a free man. 

This Peter Miller was called 
by his brethren at Ephrata 
Brother Jaebez. He was a great 
scholar, a noted printer, a holy 
man. On his tombstone at 
Ephrata is this inscription, in 
German : — 

" Here lies buried Peter Mill- 
er, born in the district of Lan- 
tern in the Palatinate (Chur- 
Pfalz) ; came as a Reformed 
preacher to America in the year 

1730, was baptized by the Community at Ephrata in th 
year 1735, and named Brother Jaebez; also he was aftci- 
.vard a preacher (Lehrer) until his end. He fell asleep 
the 25th of September, 1796, at the age of eighty-six years 
and nine months." 




Peier Miller's Tombstone- 



OTHER PIONEERS. 
THE MORAVIANS. 

The Reformers before the Reformation. — Luther. 

JULY 6, 141 5, the village of Constance on the Rhine 
was the scene of a great event. John Huss of Bo- 
hemia, the founder of the Moravians, \vas lashed to the 
stake and burned alive because he dared to follow his con- 
science and denounce wrong. His ashes were scattered 
in the Rhine, but his spirit raised up hosts of followers 
under the name Unitas Fratriiui, or United Brethren. 
Many of these pious people were natives of Moravia, and 
they are known to us as Moravians. The greatest school- 
master of his generation, John Amos Comenius, the author 
of Orbis Pictns, the first schoolbook for children with pic- 
tures, was a bishop of these people. 

For three hundred years they were driven over Europe, 
hunted like wild beasts, thrust into prison, or burned at 
the stake. But they had one great deliverer, Nicholas 
Ludwig, Count of Zinzendorf. He gave these wander- 
ing, friendless, and countryless people a home on his es- 
tate. The name of this new home was Hernhut (the 
protection of the Lord). 

75 



In 1736 Zinzendorf was banished from his home land, 
Saxony, for his religion's sake. He went to England, and 
arranged with the agents of General Oglethorpe to send 
missionaries to the new colony, Georgia. Here the Mo- 
ravians had no religious liberty, and on account of war 
they removed to the land of the peaceful and truthful 
Penn. They settled at Nazareth, and in 1740 Father 
Nitschmann and a party of followers from Germany joined 
them. The next year they formed a new settlement on 
the Lehigh. The Indians called this beautiful river the 
Lecha, and the Moravians intended to call the new town 
Bethlechem (the House upon the Lecha). 

To this wilderness home, late in the year, came their 
banished leader, Zinzendorf, to celebrate with his followers 
the birth of our dear Savior. Many of the settlers were 

living in caves, and 
there was only one 
house in the settle- 
ment. This house 
had one story and 
an attic. At the 
end, with a wall be- 
tween, was the cow 
and horse stable. 

On Christmas 
eve all the people 
crowded into this small house for worship. They spoke 
of the blessed Babe of Bethlehem. "At the tenth hour" 
the singers went into the cow stable, crept in the cold and 
darkness close up to the manger, and sang with feeling, so 
that it melted all hearts to tears : — 




1 



•%| 



The First House in Bethlehem. 



77 

"Nicht aus Jerusalem, sondern Bethlehem, 
Aus dem kommt was mir fromet." 

"Not from Jerusalem, but Bethlehem, 
Comes that which helpeth me." 

So in tears and prayers these pious men of God called the 
place Bethlehem. 

On December 3, 1776, while the British were marching 
across New Jersey towards Philadelphia, General Wash- 
ington decided to make Bethlehem the chief hospital of 
the Continental army. Two hundred and fifty sick soldiers 
arrived the next day, and hundreds more followed in a 
short time. Soon the place was crowded with the suffer- 
ers, and Bethlehem remained the general hospital of the 
army until June, 1778. 

The Moravians gave up their large buildings to the sick 
and wounded soldiers. They did more. They furnished 
food and clothing, nursed the sick, conducted religious 
services twice each week, and in every way known to them 
aided the cause of freedom. 

At the head of this great and charitable organization 
was Bishop Ettwein. Preaching one day to his people 
upon thrir duty to their country, he urged all of them to 
pray for the success of the United States. Then, exclaim- 
ing, ''We had better do so at once," he fell upon his knees 
and offered up a fervent prayer for the cause he loved. 

After Lafayette was wounded at Brandywine he was 
carefully nursed into health at the house of Charles Beckel 
in Bethlehem. Here, too, the single sisters presented a 
crimson silk banner, beautifully lettered and embroidered, 
to Count Pulaski. Longfellow's Hyinti of the Moravian 
Nuns of Bethlehem keeps this noble act fresh in memory. 



78 



On the streets of this quiet Pennsylvania village walked 
General Washington, Lafayette, Pulaski, Dj Kalb ; Gen- 
erals Schuyler, Armstrong, Gates, and Mifflin ; and such 
other heroes as John Hancock, Henry Laurens, Benjamin 
Franklin, John Adams, Benjamin Harrison, Richard Henry 
Lee, and Samuel Adams. 

Every President from Washington to Buchanan found 
welcome and entertainment in the old ** Sun Hotel," one of 
the best-known public houses in America. 

When Washington visited here, he was much pleased 
with the industry and skill of the women, who presented 
him with a " blue stripe " dress pattern for his wife. He 
purchased for his own use two pairs of stockings and 
many other much-needed articles. For Bishop Ettwcin 

he had a great fondness. 
To him Washington said, 
" I wish I were a simple 
Moravian." 

The bishop replied, '' Stay 
where you are; you can do 
more good where you are." 
To the credit of these 
good Moravians it niust be 
said that they were the great 
missionaries to the Indians 
among the Pennsylvania set- 
tlers. Zinzendorf, Spang- 
enberg, Heckewelder, Zeisberger, Loskiel, Cammerhoff, 
Nitschmann, Neisser, Ettwein, Martin Mack, Frederick 
Martin, Frederick Christian Post, — what glorious names 
these are in Pennsylvania history ! They stand for faith 




Spangenberg. 



79 

in God, and heroic and high religious purpose. These are 
the men that carried the message of the Bible to the Indi- 
ans, that put into savage hearts the refined spirit of Christ, 
that carried high culture and holy zeal into the wilder- 
ness, and that taught the Indians to bury the hatchet and 
build temples to God. 

COUNT ZINZENDORF IN THE WYOMING. 



THE Count of Zinzendorf came to Pennsylvania about 
1 74 1. In the presence of several prominent men 
in Philadelphia he gave up his title of Count and took the 

name of Louis von Thiirn- 

stein. The Germans called 
him " Brother Louis," and 
the Quakers called him 
** Friend Louis." 

Zinzendorf, like all other 
Moravians, became greatly 
interested in the Indians. 

With his daughter Be- 
nigna, he went to see Con- 
rad Weiser at Tulpehocken. 
Weiser told him of the great 
Onondaga council fire, and 
spoke of the Iroquois, or the Indians of the Long House. 
He told him of Shikellimy at Shamokin, who governed the 
Delawares and the Shawnees in the interest of the Iro- 
quois. He told him of th^ deep religious nature of these 
people, their habits of meditation, their desire to save their 




Zinzendorf. 



8o 

young men from the white man's rum. Weiser went fur- 
ther and told what he would do if he were a missionary. 
He would have a smith shop at Shamokin to mend their 
guns and hatchets. He would have men learn their lan- 
guage and ent.r into their ways of living. He would take 
Christ to the Indians rather than try to bring the Indians 
among Christians. 

Zinzendorf was delighted with his visit ; and he and Be- 
nigna agreed to go with Weiser on his next journey to 
Shamokin. The road was wild and dangerous. It was 
merely a rough trail in the mountains, where the limbs of 
the trees threatened to brush Benigna from her horse. 
In going down the mountains the path at times was so 
steep that Zinzendorf held his daughter's dress to keep 
her from sliding over the horse's head. At Shamokin, 
Shikellimy listened with marked attention to the great 
Moravian. Zinzendorf accompanied Weiser up the west 
branch of the Susquehanna as far as Madame Montour's 
(near where Montoursville now stands). He then decided 
to return to Shamokin and go up the north branch to the 
Wyoming valley and locate himself among the Shawnees. 

*' That will never do," said Weiser. " You don't know the 
ferocious nature of the Shawnee Indians. They will surely 
scalp you if you go there. No white man has ever been 
in the Wyoming. The Iroquois gave them that land for 
hunting grounds. They will not listen to your ]M-eaching." 

"That is just why I am going to the Wyoming," replied 
Zinzendorf. ''They need to learn of Christ." 

"Then you take your life and that of fair young Benigna 
here in your own hands," said Weiser, and he started for 
Tulpehocken. 



8i 

Zinzendorf pushed up the Susquehanna, and pitched 
his tents in the Wyoming country (1742). After he had 
opened his mission, he received one day from the Mora- 
vians at Bethlehem a bundle of letters and papers which 
had come all the way from Europe. The count wished to 
be alone when he read them ; so he caused his tent to be 
moved some distance from the others. Here he sat alone, 
day after day, examining his papers. The Indians had 
from the first received him coldly, but now since he had 
moved his tent away from the others they grew suspicious. 

"Why should he come here.?" they asked. "It's an- 
other trick to get our land from us. We've not forgotten 
the Walking Purchase. He moves his tent from his peo- 
ple. They have quarreled. He's a bad man. He's too 
much alone. He loves the dark spirit. Snakes are in his 
wigwam. We had best kill him." 

After this decision had been fixed upon at the council 
of the Shawnees, the sharp eye of the Indian was upon 
Zinzendorf every hour of the day and night. The day for 
his death was fixed, and a young brave was chosen to do 
the bloody deed. 

Meanwhile Conrad Weiser was at Tulpehocken. Care 
lay upon his heart, and his nights were restless. He was 
troubled about Zinzendorf. He was sure that the Indians 
would kill him. After a few days he could stand it no 
longer. Alone, he started across the wild, untrodden 
mountains toward Wyoming. He arrived just in time to 
save the count's life. The day for the murder was at 
hand, but Zinzendorf knew nothing of the dark plan. 
Weiser went straight to the sachems of the Shawnees, 
and charged them with plotting to take Zinzendorf's life. 

W, AND B. — 6 



The Indians were frightened. How did Weiser know ? 
Who told him ? Had they not all kept this secret ? Then 
Weiser talked plainly and boldly. 

"Take this man's life," he said, ''and for what ? You 
imagine that he came to take your lands. This land is 
not yours. The Iroquois gave it to you for a hunting 
ground. You kill Zinzendorf, and they will take this land 
from you. You want to kill Zinzendorf to save your land, 
when you know that his innocent blood will drive you from 
the land. This man came to make men of you. You are 
nothing but cowardly dogs. Go, bury the scalping knife, 
and let Zinzendorf depart in peace." 

The Indians promised not to touch a hair on Zinzen- 
dorf's head. They were afraid of Weiser and his influ- 
ence with the Six Nations. Conrad then took the pious 
Zinzendorf away from Wyoming. For a long time the 
Moravians thanked Conrad Weiser for saving the life of 
their leader. 



A 



THE LOG COLLEGE. 

MONG the most active settlers of our colony were the 
ScotchTrish. Like the Germans and Quakers, they 
had suffered for thjir religion. Thev were driven out of 
Scotland and found refuge in the northern part of Ireland, 
and from that place many came to America. In Philadel- 
phia, as earlv as 1703, a church of these Presbyterians 
was organized. In 1717, they formed a colony on the 
Octoraro Creek, in Lancaster County. About 1720, a 
large number .settled in Bucks County. 



83 

In this settlement was a famous preacher, Rev. William 
Tennent, who had been educated in Trinity College, 
Dublin, and had become a priest of the church in 1706. 
He came to America in 1718, and was made a Presbyterian 
preacher September 17 of that year. He was elected 
pastor at Neshaminy, Bucks County, in 1726. 




The Log College. 



At this time there was no college in the middle colonies 
that could prepare young men for the ministry. To found 
such a school was William Tennent's mission, and for this 
great work he was well suited. He was a profound 
scholar, speaking and writing the Latin and other lan- 
guages as fluently as his mother tongue. 

In 1726 he founded the famous Log College on the 
Neshaminy, built of logs, "chunked and daubed " between, 



84 

and one story high. It was twenty feet long and nearly 
as broad. Out from this simple college, fired with a love 
for the truth by its noble founder, went many of the 
famous preachers of the eighteenth century. 

From this Log College grew, in 1746, the great College 
of New Jersey, now called Princeton University ; and, in 
1783, Dickinson College at Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 

William Tennent had four sons, all of whom, under 
their father's instruction, became famous leaders of the 
church. His son Gilbert was his assistant; and after 
the father died, in 1746, Gilbert became president of 
the Log College. Ke was one of the most eloquent 
preachers in America. The great Whitfield said, " I went 
to the meeting house to hear Mr. Gilbert Tennent preach ; 
and never before heard I such a searching sermon. He 
is a son of thunder and does not regard the face of man." 
"Higher testimony," said an eminent divine, "and from 
higher authority, could not be given upon earth. It is 
doubtful whether Mr. Whitfield ever expressed so high an 
opinion of any other preacher." 

Whitfield preached at the Log College in 1739 to three 
thousand souls, and the vast meeting was melted to tears. 
The next year, at Whitfield's invitation, Gilbert Tennent 
stood in Boston preaching to multitudes. Thousands were 
concerned for their souls. He preached at Harvard Univer- 
sity, and, as he wrote, " In Cambridge also in the town and 
in the College, the shaking among the dry bones was gen- 
eral, and several of the students have received consola- 
tion." Of Yale he writes, " In New Haven the concern 
was general. About thirty students came on foot ten 
miles to hear the word of God." 



85 

This great missionary journey, by a Pennsylvania 
preacher to the great New England cities, taught the 
Puritans that men of power were filling the middle wilder- 
ness of America with the light and life of Christ. 

Among the Log College pupils was Rev. Samuel Blair, 
who founded as early as 1 741, in Chester County, "The 
School of the Prophets," the second Presbyterian classical 
college of Pennsylvania. This school gave Princeton 
College its able president, Rev. Samuel Davies ; and the 
church the eloquent Rev. John Rodgers and such famous 
divines as Alexander Cumming, James Finley, and Hugh 
Henry. 

Rev. John Blair, brother of Samuel, a great preacher 
of the Cumberland valley before the French and Indian 
War, and vice president of Princeton College, was also 
an alumnus of the Log College. From here came also 
the eminent Dr. Samuel Finley, president of Princeton 
College. In 1744, Dr. Finley opened a school for minis- 
ters at Nottingham, Chester County, which gained the 
widest reputation for good work, and sent out such men 
as Governor Martin of North Carolina; Dr. Benjamin 
Rush ; his brother, Judge Rush ; Ebenezer Hazard, Esq. ; 
Rev. James Waddel, D.D., the eloquent blind preacher of 
Virginia; Colonel John Bayard; and Governor Henry of 
Maryland. Upon Samuel Finley was bestowed the degree. 
Doctor of Divinity, by Glasgow University. He was the 
first Presbyterian minister of America so honored. 

The Log College had no more worthy pupil than the 
Rev. Robert Smith, D.D. He was made pastor of the 
church at Pequea, Lancaster County, in 1750, and, like 
other graduates of the Log College, soon founded at 



86 

this place a classical and theological school of great 
merit. Here he educated his three sons : Rev. Samuel S. 
Smith, D.D., president of Hampden Sidney College in 
Virginia, and afterwards president of Princeton College, 
a great scholar, author, and preacher; Rev. John Blair 
Smith, president of Hampden Sidney College and first 
president of Union College, Schenectady, New York, an 
eloquent and successful preacher ; and Rev. William 
Smith, of whom his pious parent said, '' to comfort and 
edify the plain Christian, he was equal to either of them." 

The Log College proved that pioneers could be scholars, 
and that America did not need to submit to the proud 
words of the English : " Let the colonists attend to the 
production of the earth and look to England for learning 
and learned men." 

In answer to the ugly slur of one of England's lords of 
trade, ** Let the colonists make tobacco," these noble 
Pennsylvanians made men ; men of culture, of power, 
and of great personal worth ; men that loved the Lord 
and did good in His name. 



THE NATIVES OF PENNSYLVANIA. 



JUSTICE TO THE INDIANS. 

IN the spring of 1728 a roving band of southern Indians 
came into Chester (now Lancaster) County and alarmed 
the people very much. They went from house to house, 
demanding food, and often treated the people rudely. 

Their captain, a Spanish Indian, carried a cutlass, and 
some of the people thought he flourished it too much. 

A large number of men, armed with guns, swords, and 
pitchforks, started in pursuit of the Indians. After going 
some distance into the forest, they suddenly came upon 
them, squatting around their camp fire. 

" Let's fire on them," whispered one of the white men. 
"We can surprise them." 

'' No," said the captain ; " put down your gun and wait 
until two of us go up and treat with them." 

Just as the two white men came up, the Spanish Indian 
leaped to his feet, and, pulling out his cutlass, flourished 
it twice over his head, and shouted to his men to fire. In- 
stantly the white men commenced firing. Indeed, there 
was much firing on both sides. The Indians soon ran 
away. Their leader was wounded, but jumped up and 
ran after his men. One white man was slightly wounded. 

87 



S8 

This Indian battle caused great excitement. The people 
were highly excited, and the following petition was sent to 
the governor : — 

"To His Excellency, Patrick Gordon, Esqr., Governor 
Generall in chief over the Province of pencilvania, and the 
Territories thereunto belonging. Benbrenors Township 
and adjacenciies belonging May ye lOth, 1728. 

'* We think it fit to address your Excellency for Relief 
for your Excellence must Know That we have Suffered 
and is like to sufer By the Ingians, they have fell upon ye 
Back Inhabitants about falkner's swamp & near Cosha- 
hopin. Therefore, we the humble Petitioners, with our 
poor Wives and Children Do humbly Beg of your Excel- 
lency To Take It into Consideration and Relieve us the 
Petitioners thereof, whose Lives Lies At Stake With us 
and our poor Wives and Children that is more to us than 
life. Therefore, We the humble Petitioners hereof, Do 
Desire An Answer from your Plxcellency by ye Bearer 
With Speed, so no more at present from your poor afflicted 
People Whose Names are here subscribed : — 

John Roberts. Jn. Pawling. Henry Pannebecker. 

W. Lane John Jacobs Israeli Morris 

Jacob opdengraef Martin Kolb. Anthony halmon 

Peter Bun. Jacob Cugnred Jacob Kolb. 

Mathias Tyson, Hanss Detweiler. John Meir 

Conrad Cresson Peter Johnson." 

Soon after this petition was sent, John Roberts ran one 
day to the house of Walter Winter, begging for help. 
He said that the Indians were at his father's house with 



89 

a bow and a great many arrows, and his father was in 
danger of being killed. 

Walter Winter and his father-in-law, Morgan Herbert, 
seized their guns and ran into the woods. Soon they met 
John Winter, who joined them. 

When they came to the foot log which crossed the 
stream in front of John Robert's door they stopped 
breathless. There stood Mr. Roberts in his doorway, 
gun in hand. There was Toka Collie, the Indian, stand- 
ing near. Some squaws and Indian girls were also there. 

Walter Winter declared that he saw Toka Collie take 
up his bow and, stepping backward, take an arrow from 
the quiver on his back. He was sure that the arrow 
was to kill John Roberts, and as quick as a flash he 
shot Toka Collie. John Winter was excited. " Kill the 
wolves," he shouted, and immediately shot an Indian 
woman and then ran up and killed another. Two of the 
Indian girls were badly wounded. 

Samuel Nutt came and declared that these were friendly 
Indians who meant no harm, that Toka Collie was related 
to many great chiefs, and that he feared an Indian war 
would come of this hasty deed. Word was at once sent to 
Governor Gordon. The poor Indians were buried in the 
leaves. The governor was very much troubled. 

John and Nicholas Scull, two great Indian interpreters, 
were sent at once to the great chiefs to turn aside the 
danger and call a great Indian council at Conestoga, 
May 22, 1728. The governor came to the council, bring- 
ing with him as presents for the Indians "Twenty-five 
Match coats, twenty Blanketts, Twenty Duffels, twenty- 
five shirts, one hundred wt. Gunpowder, two hundred wt 



90 

of lead, five hundred flints, and fifty knives, with Rum, 
Bread, Pipes, and Tobbacco." 

Meanwhile officers had been sent to arrest Walter and 
John Winter and Morgan Herbert. 

"You've no right to take me to jail," said Walter 
Winter. " If I shoot wolves, bears, and panthers, you 
say I do the country a good turn. An Indian is no 
better than a dog. He's as treacherous as a wolf. Why 
must I then be taken to jail for killing an Indian .? " 

"Come along," said the officers. "You are in Penn- 
sylvania now. Years ago William Penn told the Indians 
that he would treat them as brothers as long as the winds 
blew and the rivers ran. That was no idle talk. You 
will find that it is just as much of a crime to kill an 
Indian as to kill a white man. Come along." 

And the three men were hurried down to Chester and 
locked in jail. Morgan Herbert was pardoned, but the 
Winter brothers were tried, convicted, and hanged for mur- 
der. For many years after, that act had great influence 
among the Indians. When Jack Armstrong, the trader, 
was killed on the Juniata, Shikellimy's sons brought the 
Indian murderers to Lancaster jail to await the white 
man's justice. 

»o^^o« — 

ELIZA CARTLIDGE. 

ON a bench under a shady beech tree, near a spring, 
sat PLliza Cartlidge, swaying to and fro, crying and 
moaning. 

" Oh, my poor John ! Oh, John ! what'll I do if they 



91 

hang my husband ? Oh, why did he do it ? They were 
both in Uquor, both in liquor. John was not himself. He 
knew not what he did." 

Before her, on the ground among the beech drops, sat 
two grave-faced Indian hunters. In silence they looked 
at Eliza, while their bodies swayed to and fro with hers. 
At last, during a silence between her sobs, the old Indian 
spoke. 

" We came to sit with thee in grief. We mourn for 
Sa-an-tee'-nee, who is dead. Thou mournst for John Cart- 
lidge, who, in irons, is being carried to the jail of the pale 
face. John Cartlidge is not dead. We all know that he 
killed Saanteenee. We know that rum did it. John 
Cartlidge was our friend. He was a good trader. He 
drank too much rum. Saanteenee drank too much rum. 
They quarreled. They lived away from the Great Spirit. 
Saanteenee, our brother, was killed. We mourn for him, 
but John Cartlidge must not die. We will ask Brother 
Onas for his life. Sister, wipe away thy tears. Let the 
sun shine in thy heart. We will plead with Brother Onas 
for the life of John Carthdge." 

Six months later, at the big council held in Philadelphia, 
Tan'-ae-ha'-ha, the orator of the Five Nations (Iroquois), 
arose, and, in the presence of Governor Keith, his council, 
and the commissioners of Indian affairs, spoke as follows : — 

" Brother Onas, we have well considered all you have 
spoken, and like it well, because it is only the renewing of 
former leagues and treaties made between the government 
of Pennsylvania and us of the Five Nations, which we 
always believed we were obliged to keep. And as to the 
accident of one of our friends being killed by some of your 



92 

people, which has happened by misfortune and against 
your will, we say that we are all in peace. We think it 
hard that John Cartlidge, who killed our friend and brother, 
should suffer. We do, in the name of all the Five Nations, 
forgive the offense, and desire that you will likewise for- 
give it, and that John Cartlidge may be released from 
prison, and set at liberty to go w^here he please. We shall 
esteem that as a mark of regard and friendship for the 
Five Nations. We esteem and love you as if you were 
William Penn himself. We are glad that you have wiped 
aw^ay and covered the blood of our dead friend and brother. 
We desire that the same may be forgot, and that it may 
never more be mentioned and remembered." 

The governor and council listened with great attention. 
They let John Cartlidge go, making him promise not to 
trade any more with the Indians beyond the Susquehanna. 
They took from him his commission as justice of the peace 
in Chester County. Eliza Cartlidge was happy once more, 
and ever afterwards, thanked the Indians for saving the 
life of her husband. 

STANDING STONE. 

STANDING STONE (Huntingdon) was one of the old- 
est and best-known Indian posts in Pennsylvania. The 
entire flat at the mouth of Stone Creek was, as early as 
1750, one immense corn field. Here the Indians, long 
before white men came into the beautiful valley of the 
blue Juniata, kept the council fires burning and celebrated 
with dance and song their worship of the great Manitou. 



93 



Here, on the right bank of the Stone Creek, and near 
the Juniata River, stood the famous standing stone. John 
Harris, founder of Harrisburg, visited this place in 1754 
and saw this stone. It was fourteen feet high and six 
inches square, was taken from the 
mountain and erected just as it was 
found, and had carved on its smooth 
sides the sacred records of the Oneida 
Indians. 

The Tuscaroras, living about forty 
miles away, once stole this sacred 
stone and carried it to the Tuscarora 
valley. The Oneidas followed and 
fought for their stolen treasure, and 
finally carried it back amid great re- 
joicing. When these Indians joined 
the French in 1754, they carried their 
sacred stone with them. It has never 
been found. 

Soon after the war was over, a sec- 
ond stone, much like the first, was 
set up on the same spot. A fragment 
of this stone, now in the library of 
Juniata College, Huntingdon, was 
found in an old bake oven many 
years ago. It contains the names of 
John and Charles Lukens, surveyors, 
Thomas Smith, and others, and has dates from 1768 to 
1770. 

Before the Revolutionary War a large fort was built 
at Standing Stone. It covered ten acres and served as a 



Fragment of the Stand- 
ing Stone. 



94 



refuge for the white people as far west as the Alleghany 
Mountains. 

In this fort in 1768 were born Hugh Brady and his twin 
sister. Brady served under Wayne at an early age. 
Step by step he rose from the ranks to the exalted posi- 
tion of general. He won 
great renown at Chip- 
])ewa in the War of 
18 1 2. Once he was 
very sick at Erie. His 
doctor told him he must 
die. 

" Let the drums beat," 
said this brave son of 
Standing Stone; *'my 
knapsack is swung, and 
Hugh Brady is ready to 
march." He died full 
of ^•ears and honors at 
Sunbury in 185 1. 

The first survey of 
this land at Standing Stone was made by Mr. Lukens for 
a man named Crawford. It was called " George Crog- 
han's Improvement" in honor of the hero of Aughwick. 
It was known as Stone Town for many years. In 1787 it 
was renamed Huntingdon by Dr. William Smith, provost 
of the University of Pennsylvania. Dr. Smith owned all 
the land around Stone Town. He had been given a large 
sum of money for his university by Selina, Countess of 
Huntingdon, in England, and it was in her honor that he 
gave to the new county and town the name of Huntingdon. 




Dr. William Smith. 



95 



A DOG FEAST AT STANDING STONE. 

IN his history of the Juniata valley, U. J. Jones tells a 
story of a dog feast at Standing Stone. 

Early in 1750, word came down the old Tuscarora trail 
that six or eight tribes of Indians would meet at Standing 
Stone the first full moon in September to hold a grand 
feast. 

An old trader at Lancaster set out with pack horses 
loaded with what the Indians called " lum " (rum) and 
stores of trinkets that Indians love. He slowly moved 
westward to John Harris' Ferry (Harrisburg), and then 
to Carlisle. Here he took the famous Tuscarora trail over 
the mountains to Aughwick ( Shirley sburg), through the 
famous Jacks Narrows, to Standing Stone. He pitched 
his tent on a hill, now used as a graveyard, and was ready 
to trade with the Indians. 

The morning of the great day dawned clear. The sun 
flooded the lovely valley, lighted the sacred standing 
stone, and lay in level lines upon a hundred wigwams. 
Soon the woods around began to swarm with braves, 
who filled the air with wild whoops to make known their 
coming. 

At noon a thousand warriors sat cross-legged around the 
council fire, smoking the great pipe of peace. The squaws 
crowded around the circle of warriors, but kept quiet. Two 
lads followed the great pipe as it passed from mouth to 
mouth. They carried a bag of km'-7ii-kiii'-i-que (tobacco) 
and kept the bowl well filled. Then an old Indian arose 
and said, " We have met as our custom is every hundred 



96 

moons to thank the great Manitoii for keeping us a great 
people." After smoking in silence for a long time the 
old chief arose and said, " The day will now be given to 
rejoicing." 

Then the dusky sons and daughters of the forest arose, 
and to the sound of the drum and the wild chant of their 
happy hearts they danced the hours away. This dance 




The Standing Stone. 



lasted till the stars came out and the midnight moon 
brought silence to the valley. The next day and the next 
the same thing was done. The industrious trader sold 
nearly all his goods, and of course all his "lum," sent his 
pack horses loaded with furs to Aughwick, and then 
waited to see the end of the affair. He had been asked 
by a famous chief to attend the great feast which closed 
the celebration. 



97 

As the evening shadows crept up the slopes of the Shelv- 
ing Rocks, and the last ray of light faded in the western 
sky, a large fire of dry wood was built. Around this 
the savages danced, howling and twisting their bodies 
into all sorts of shapes. When the fire burned fiercest 
and lit the quiet face of the peaceful river and the bend- 
ing tree tops with a strange gleam, a mighty chorus was 
sung by all the Indians. It rolled down the river, and 
echoed across the valley, and died away on the distant 
mountains. . 

Then the Indians brought ten live dogs from a near 
wigwam and cast them into the fire. A dreadful howl 
went up from the dying dogs. The Indians shouted 
louder and louder. The odor of roasting dog sickened the 
trader. He arose to start for Aughwick, but his Indian 
friends would not allow him to go. Soon an old medicine 
man took a hooked stick and drew the roasted dogs from 
the fire, cut them into pieces, and gave a piece to each 
chief, who ate it greedily. Let the old trader tell in his 
own words what followed : — 

'' At last they came to where I was sitting among the 
only sober chiefs in the party. The stench of the half- 
roasted dogs was awful. One of them came to me and 
offered me a piece — a choice piece, too, as I was an in- 
vited guest. 'Thank 'e,' said I ; ' never dine on dog.' But 
this did not satisfy them. One of the prophets, laboring 
under the effects of about a quart of my rum, insisted on 
my eating what was offered to me. I again refused, when 
one of the chiefs told me this was a very solemn feast, and 
unless I ate the piece handed me I would highly insult the 
Indians and some of them might take my scalp. The 

W. AND B. — 7 



98 

thing was no longer a joke, and I seized the piece and 
put it in my mouth in hopes of spitting it out ; but they 
watched me so close that by one mighty effort I swallowed 
it. I did not wait to see the end of the feast. I had my 
portion and decided to leave. 

'' I started for Aughwick alone in the night, and every 
half hour I had to throw up. I was a much sicker man 
the next day than if I had swallowed a gallon of my own 
rum. 

" In all my dealings with the red man I tool<: particular 
care never again to be present at any dog feast ! " 



TROUBLES ON THE BORDER. 



CRESSAP'S CAPTURE. 

IN early colonial days it was very common for some 
people to take up land out in the wilderness without 
paying for it. These people were called "squatters." 

Thomas Cressap was a squatter from Maryland. He 
took up land west of the Susquehanna River as early 
as 1723, when that country was a part of Chester County. 
Cressap thought he was settling in Maryland, for there 
was then no Mason and Dixon's line to divide the states. 

The Governor of Pennsylvania had promised the Con- 
estoga Indians that the white man should not cross the 
Susquehanna River to take land. When Cressap and 
several others commenced building cabins there, the 
Indians sent word to Philadelphia that the treaty had been 
broken. They told Governor Gordon, whom they called 
Brother Onas, that he must keep the faith with them. 
William Penn had promised to protect them in their rights. 
This land was theirs, and the squatters must be driven 
away. 

Governor Gordon listened to the Indians. He sent a 
party of men over the Susquehanna River, and they drove 
Thomas Cressap and the Maryland men away. This 

99 



100 

made the Maryland people very angry. After Lancaster 
County was formed, in 1729, this region was thrown open 
to settlers by the proprietors of Pennsylvania. A reserva- 
tion in Lancaster County was set apart for the Conestoga 
Indians, and the state promised to protect and feed them 
if they would give up all the land. The arrangement had 
no sooner been made than the Maryland squatters came 
back. They said, ** This country is a part of Maryland. 
It is ours." Cressap came back and built a house on the 
river bank, and went into the business of running a ferry 
and selling land in the name of Maryland. His agents 
traveled through Chester, Berks, and Lancaster counties, 
hunting up land buyers. Many innocent Germans, not 
knowing where they were going, crossed the river and 
thought they were building homes in Maryland. The 
runaway slaves from Lancaster County found Cressap 
ever ready to ferry them over the river and hide them 
until they could escape. Robbers who stole from the 
ScotchTrish in Paxton hurried over to Cressap's with their 
ill-gotten gains. Indian traders, who had always let their 
branded horses run loose in the woods on the west side of 
the river, until they wanted them to carry goods to the 
Ohio region, complained that Cressap either shot or stole 
them. 

The people of Lancaster County found it was impossible 
to collect tax in "Cressap's county." Cressap, they said, 
must be captured and sent to Philadelphia to answer for 
his many crimes. Finally, when Cressap had seized two 
Lancaster County constables and hurried them off to 
Annapolis to jail, the people arose in arms. Wright and 
Blunston, two Lancaster County magistrates, with over 



lOI 

twenty armed men hurried off in the night to Cressap's 
house, intending to get there by dayhght, and to arrest 
Cressap for the murder of Knowles Daunt. 

** Yes, they are crossing the river," whispered Cressap's 
scout. ** There must be a hundred of them, and they're 
coming to take you to jail dead or ahve." 

''They'll never take me alive ! " said Cressap. " Come, 
we'll shut the house and bar the doors. I'll shoot the first 
man who comes within twenty feet of the house. If there's 
any coward in this room, let him step into the middle of 
the floor. I want to see him. I stood by you, and now I 
want you to stand by me. I have a bullet for the first 
traitor coward who talks surrender. Do you hear.? " 

By this time the Lancaster County men had surrounded 
the cabin. There had been some firing when Wright 
called on Cressap to surrender, and read to him the Lan- 
caster County warrant for his arrest. 

" You might as well stop that reading," shouted Cressap. 
'' I've a great mind to put a bullet through your old paper. 
What business have you coming down into Maryland to 
insult a man before his own door, and to frighten his wife 
and children ? If you don't draw off pretty soon, there 
will be trouble. Do you hear ? " 

"We came," said Wright, " to arrest you for murder and 
many other crimes. There is a place waiting for you in 
the Philadelphia jail, and we'll have you if it takes all 
day." 

And it did take all day. Toward night Blunston 
shouted to Wright, *' Let's set the old shanty afire. That 
will bring the fox out of his den." 

A huge fire was built in the road, and big pine knots 



102 



were set on fire and then hurled at the house. Cressap's 
wife and children screamed for their lives, while one of 
his men climbed up the chimney, and sliding down the 
roof, leaped into the bushes and ran away. 

Soon the cabin was all ablaze. The flames lit the dark 
shadow with a lurid glare. When the rafters commenced 
falling upon the garret floor, the door of the cabin was 
burst open, and Cressap, with his smoke-blackened men, 
rushed out. 

The women and children and most of the men were 
allowed to escape. Cressap was caught and tied and 
sent to Philadelphia. The jailer declared that he was 
afraid Cressap would set the prison on fire, he was such a 

desperate and reckless 
character. The Gov- 
ernor of Penns)"lvania 
then ordered Cressap to 
be put in irons, and re- 
fused all requests from 
the Governor of Mary- 
land to let him out on 
bail. 

More than twenty 
years after this, the es- 
tablishment of Mason 
and Dixon's line put 
a stop to all such bor- 
der troubles. After 
that people were not forced to pay taxes to two states, 
nor could outlaws escape justice by living along the 
border. 




On Mason and Dixon's Line. 



03 



CAPTAIN JACK, THE WILD HUNTER OF THE 
JUNIATA. 

ONE of the first and bravest men that dwelt along 
the Juniata was Captain Jack. As early as 1750, 
he had a cabin home at a large spring in Jacks Narrows, 
in Huntingdon County. His home w^s in a lovely spot. 
The great mountains, covered with waving forests, rose 
on every side. The peaceful river rolled its current over 
rugged rocks and under bending trees, its own magical 
music mingling with the songs of birds and the weird 
worship of the Oneida Indians ; for here 

"Wild roved an Indian girl, 
Bright Alfarata, 
Where sweep the waters 
Of the blue Juniata." 

Here Captain Jack's wife was happy in her wilderness 
home. His two children breathed the pure air, climbed 
the massive mountains, and played in the forest depths 
without fear. Their father was their protector. He was 
taller by a foot than most men. His skin was so dark 
that some called him a half-breed, but he was a pure- 
blooded white man. He was intelligent, kind, and honest, 
as fleet as an antelope, as quick as an Indian, and as 
strong as a giant. Dressed in buckskin, and carrying his 
trusty rifle on his broad shoulder, he was easily king of 
the forest. 

One day in the summer of 1752, Captain Jack sprang 
into his birch-bark canoe, called a cheery good-by to his 



104 

dear wife and children, and with sturdy strokes sent his 
boat flying over the quiet surface of the sun-kissed waters. 
Late at night he returned. Alas ! the cruel Indians ! His 
cabin was a charred ruin. His wife and children, scalped 
and murdered, were lying cold in the moonlight near his 
favorite spring. He bent low and kissed the lips he loved, 
and, after many hours of silent agony, agony that almost 
drove him mad, he raised his giant body over the ghastly 
forms of his family, clenched his teeth and fists, and made 
an awful vow ! 

" Curse the murderers of my loved ones ! Curse them ! 
I shall be avenged." Then he tenderly laid all he had 
loved and lived for in one grave ; shouldered again his 
long rifle, his only friend now ; and with a last good-by 
to what was only a day before his happy home, " Black 
Rifle" took the trail to the west. His revenge was swift 
and cruel. With an eye like an eagle's, an aim as true 
as William Tell's, a strength that knew no weakness, a 
thirst for vengeance that never was satisfied, he roamed 
the valley of the Juniata like a savage tiger. W'herever 
Indians skulked. Jack's rifle rang upon the air, and the 
death whoop of a redskin told that the "Black Hunter" 
had not forgotten his vow. 

The settlers about Aughwick, in the Big Cove, at Stand- 
ing Stone, and in Path Valley frequently found Indian 
scalps tied to the bushes along the trails, and white 
bones bleaching in the sun. A single hole in the skull 
the size of Captain Jack's bullets told the story — " Black 
Rifle " was on the trail. 

One night Mr. Moore, living at Aughwick, was awak- 
ened by the quick crack of a rifle. He sprang to the 



105 

door, opened it, looked out. At his feet, writhing in 
death, lay an Indian. In the feeble light the family 
could see moving in the distance a giant form that 
called to them from the darkness, " I have saved your 
lives." Then all was silent. But the Moores knew that 
the " Black Hunter" had again found his game. 

Watching one day by the Tuscarora trail, Captain 
Jack saw a painted warrior, with a tall red feather waving 
from his head, his body covered with gewgaws stolen 
from some trader, come down the trail. A crack of his 
rifle, and the savage leaped into the air and fell dead. 
Three other savages, unknown to Captain Jack, had 
stopped at a spring quite near. Hearing the report of 
a gun, and thinking their companion had shot a deer 
or bear, they gave a loud whoop and rushed forward. 
The "Black Hunter" again shot, and a second Indian 
was dead. Then began a terrible fight. A third had his 
skull crushed by a blow from Jack's clubbed rifle. Then 
Jack and the remaining Indian drew their long hunting 
knives and grappled. A long and bloody fight followed 
and lasted until each was exhausted from loss of blood. 
They lay side by side glaring and bleeding. Finally the 
Indian crept away. Captain Jack succeeded at last in 
scalping the three savages, hung their scalps on the 
bushes along the trail, and made his way to the settle- 
ment. He had received ten ugly stabs, but with careful 
treatment he at length recovered. 

When General Braddock marched to Fort Duquesne, 
Captain George Croghan of Aughwick joined him in com- 
mand of thirty friendly Indians. Captain Croghan knew 
how to fight Indians. General Braddock did not. Captain 



io6 



Croghan also knew the famous ''Wild Hunter of the 
Juniata," then in command of a company of brave settlers. 
They were dressed like Indians, with hunting shirts, 
leather leggings, and moccasins. They called themselves 
"Captain Jack's Hunters." All they hunted was scalps 
of savages. Captain Croghan urged General Braddock 
to invite " Captain Jack's Hunters " to join the fated 




Captain Jack's House. 



expedition, saying, " They are well armed, and are equally 
regardless of heat or cold. They require no shelter for 
the night and ask no fay^ Hut Braddock wanted soldiers 
in showy uniforms to march over the hills with drums 
beating and colors flying in pomp and pride. 

" It was a great misfortune for Braddock that he neg- 
lected to secure the services of Jack as an auxiliary," 
so declares Hazzard in his Pennsylvania Register. Had 
the "Wild Hunter of the Juniata" been with that great 



expedition, many soldiers, now sleeping with their unwise 
leader, might have lived to tell the world of a great 
victory over the French and Indians at Fort Duquesne. 
Captain Jack's bones rest in an unknown grave, near 
those of his family, at the base of the mountain which 
bears his name. He has no man-made tombstone ; but 
the towering mountains, a hundred miles in length, stand 
as an enduring monument to his memory. The mighty 
pines are plumes over his couch, and the silent stars are 
sentinels over his lonely grave. 



>J=i!^o 



REGINA. 

ON a sunny morning in the autumn of 1754, John 
Hartman rose early and gathered his wife and 
four children around him in his cabin home. He had 
come from Germany to the peaceful province of Penn- 
sylvania, that he might earn enough to feed and clothe 
and shelter his loved ones. The cabin door was ajar, the 
sun lay like a level rule of light upon the rough but clean 
cabin floor. The faithful dog, Wasser, was asleep in the 
yard. The harnessed horses were eating their morning 
meal. A flood of song poured from a hundred birds astir 
in the overarching trees. The blue smoke curled lazily 
upward from the rude chimney, and was lost in the melting 
mists of the valley near where Orwigsburg now stands. 

The pious Lutheran father took his great German 
Bible, which he had carefully brought from the Father- 
land, and read the morning lesson. Then they all knelt, 



io8 



and the good man prayed, — " We thank thee, O Lord, 
for thy great care and love to us. We are glad for the 
light of a new day. Help us to live it aright. We love 
thy book ; we worship thy son, our Savior, and we pray 

thee to kec]) us this day 
from harm and danger. 
But not our will, but 
thine be done." 

Then the breakfast 
was eaten thankful])- and 
the plans for the day 
made. 

Mrs. Hartman and 
the youngest child, fat, 
chubb}- Christian, were 
to go to the mill, miles 
away, to get flour and to 
visit sick Mrs. Swartz. 

Mr. Hartman and 

Faithful Wasser. r- ^ c • u 

Lreorge were to nnish 

seeding the last field before the rains of autumn began 

to fall. Barbara and Regina were to stay alone in the 

cabin and " keep house." 

As Mrs. Hartman and her baby boy passed by the clear- 
ing, they called a cheery " good-by " to papa and George. 
Little Christian, sitting astride the old horse and held by 
his mother, waved a fond farewell as they passed into the 
forest. 

At noon Barbara took the great tin horn and gave a 
mighty blast to call the workers to dinner. While the 
family were eating, old Wasser came rushing into the 




I09 



house. Mr. Hartman knew his brave dog would not run 
from a common foe. He spoke to the dog ; but Wasser 
stood in the door, his bristles up, growling fiercely. Then 
the dog made a fearful leap and landed upon a big Indian 
and brought him to the ground. 

Mr. Hartman ran to the door. Two sharp rifle cracks 
rang upon the air. Two bullets from heartless foes struck 
the innocent man. He fell dead. George sprang to his 
father's side, and he, too, was struck dead. Then the 
Indians tomahawked 



faithful Wasser. Fif- 
teen yelling, hideous de- 
mons rushed into the 
cabin. Barbara ran into 
the loft, but poor, sweet 
Regina threw up her 
hanJs to heaven, and 
cried, " Herr Jesus ! 
Herr Jesus!" For a mo- 
ment that name struck 
them dumb. Then they 
seized Regina, and drew 
a scalping knife over 
her lips to tell her to 
keep still. They dragged 
Barbara from her hiding place and made the poor girls 
serve to them the dinner they had so gladly and carefully 
set for father and George. 

As the girls gave food to the murderers of their loved 
ones, they could see their dead father and brother lying 
across the cabin door. 




On the Warpath. 



no 

As soon as the Indians had eaten everything to be had, 
they began to plunder the cabin. They tied in bundles 
everything they cared for, and taking Barbara and Regina 
by the hand, led them out into the field. Here the girls 
saw a dear, sweet little girl, only three years old, tied to 
the fence. When the little captive saw the Hartman girls, 
she began to cry bitterly, and say in German, " Oh, 
Mamma! Mamma! Where is my mother .? " 

While the children wept, the Indians set fire to the 
house, and as they led the sobbing children into the wil- 
derness, the result of John Hartman's hard toil, together 
with his body and that of his son, disappeared in smoke. 

Late that afternoon Mrs. Hartman returned, leading the 
horse. On its back was the grist from the mill and tired 
little Christian. When they came out of the forest Mrs. 
Hartman looked puzzled. No house was in sight. *' Surely 
this is our place," she said to herself. " Yes, there is the 
beautiful pine tree that stood close to our cabin. There 
are the fields, and there is the orchard, and there" — but 
her words were cut short by little Christian, who cried 
out, " Why, mother, where is our house ? " 

They hurried on. Then they saw the charred ruins of 
their happy home, and in the yard was blood. It was the 
blood of faithful Wasser. Then the awful truth — an 
Indian massacre — her loved ones dead or captives — 
came to her. She fell upon her knees and lifted her 
heavy heart to God in sobs and prayers. That night she 
went to a neighbor's house and told her story. News had 
also reached the place that a farmer named Smith had 
been murdered and his little child, Susan, carried off. 

Poor Mrs. Hartman was almost wild with grief. In the 



Ill 

ashes of her home the neighbors found the charred bones 
of Mr. Hartman and George, and a month later the body 
of Barbara was found by some hunters. Mrs. Hartman 
went to see the remains. It was only too true. The 
heavy tomahawk had done its work, and poor Barbara was 
dead. Under a large oak by a stream, with grief beyond 
control, the widowed and heart-broken woman laid Barbara 
to rest till the morning of the new day of God. 

But what of Regina .? " If I could only see Regina I 
would say, like good old Simeon, ' Now, Lord, let thy 
servant depart in peace.' " But no news came. Susan 
Smith and Regina Hartman were gone. 

Years went by. Christian had become a strong lad of 

fourteen. He was his mother's only comfort, and did all 

that a noble boy could to make her days peaceful and 

happy. But how could she be contented while Regina's 

fate was unknown ? When she read her Bible in the 

morning and knelt in prayer, she always asked God about 

Regina. In the evening hour, when the twilight settled 

about her lonely home and saddened her lonely heart, she 

would gaze far away into the fading western light and 

think of Regina. Then her lips would move tremulously 

and tears would flow down her wrinkled cheeks as she 

sang the favorite song, the song she had so often sung to 

Regina : — 

'^ Allein, und doch nicht ganz allein, bin ich 
In meiner Einsamkeit.*'^ 

" Alone, and yet not all alone, am I 
In this lone wilderness." 

Would the black wilderness ever give her tidings of her 
dear child ? We shall see. 



112 



SAWQUEHANNA, OR **THE WHITE LILY." 

IN the dark woods of western New York, by the side of 
a mountain stream that leaped from the rocks and 
played w^ith the sunbeams, stood an Indian wigwam. It 
was old and cheerless within, but grand and beautiful was 
the sylvan scene that faded into green and gloom around 
it. 

Here dwelt an ugly old Indian woman, her son (a great 
warrior), and two girls who had been captives so long that 
they scarcely remembered their white parents. The older 
of these girls was Saw'-que-han'-na, ** the White Lily"; 
the other was Kno-los'-ka, "the Short-legged Bear." The 
old squaw was called She-lack'-la, ** the Dark and Rainy 
Cloud." And she was well named. The black forest, 
bending beneath the savage sweep of a mighty storm, was 
not so dreadful as Shelackla when she was crazed with 
rum. She beat these poor girls unmercifully, and they 
had lived for many years in great fear and greater suffer- 
ing. They would often steal away into the forest depths, 
and, clasping each other around the neck, weep bitterly. 

The great French and Indian War was fast drawing to 
a close, and the English were driving the French from 
America. Of all this Sawquehanna knew little and cared 
less. She had forgotten the language of her early home 
and had learned from the old squaw and her son to speak 
the Indian language. But when she sat alone for hours 
in tearful silence, her weary spirit longing for something, 
she knew not .what, there would come to her dim memories 
of a happy home, a kind praying mother, the songs of the 



113 




Sawquehanna grinding Corn. 



evening hour, and then the awful sense of fire, smoke, 
demons, death, and a long journey toward the setting sun. 
But of all this she could make nothing ; and at last she 
would brush the tears from her eyes, dismiss the painful 
picture from her mind, begin again to 
grind the scanty store of corn, and pa- 
tiently endure her hard and lonely 
lot. 

One day, in 1765, the sol- 
diers of Colonel Boquet came 
to the wigwam of She- o^ 
lackla and took the girls ^'^' 
away. The war was over, 
and Colonel Boquet de- V/^ 
manded " that all white 
children who had been 
taken captives by the Indians must be given up to the 
English government." 

On September 13, all these children were gathered at 
Fort Duquesne, and anxious parents walked along the line, 
looked into each face, rushed forward with screams of 
delight, and clasped long-lost loved ones to their hearts. 
Old soldiers turned away and wiped the tears from their 
cheeks, and Colonel Boquet was so overcome that he wept 
like a child. But no one came for Sawquehanna. She 
and Knoloska and nearly fifty more were left weeping and 
wondering what all this meant. 

Eight days later Colonel Boquet began a weary march 
with these children to Carlisle, hoping that there they might 
find father or mother and a home. For two weeks they 
toiled eastward, over the rugged mountains, through the 

\V. AND B. — 8 



114 

fern-fringed valleys, by Fort Ligonier, Raystown, and Fort 
Louden to Carlisle. News of their coming had been sent 
ahead, and every family that had lost children hurried to 
Carlisle. 

It was not long before people from the Blue Mountains 
picked out Knoloska as little Susan, the daughter of mur- 
dered Mr. Smith. It almost broke Sawquehanna's heart 
to give up her Indian sister. Susan clung to her and 
kissed her and wept. But they were no longer in the 
ugly old squaw's wigwam, and the officers promised Saw- 
quehanna that she, too, might find friends, and perhaps 
they could again live together. But her heart was heavy. 
She made no answer, hung her head, and sobbed and 
moaned. 

Poor old Mrs. Hartman, the mother of Regina, with 
little hope and increasing sorrow, left her mountain home, 
went by John Harris' Ferry, and came to Carlisle in time 
to see the tired children arrive. Mrs. Hartman looked 
into each face, hoping to find Regina ; but no golden hair, 
no blue eyes, no ruddy cheeks like Regina's were there. 
As she turned to go away she saw Sawquehanna turn 
her bright blue eyes full upon her. But Mrs. Hartman 
walked on. Colonel Boquet came to the sad woman and 
said, "Can't you find your daughter.^" 

"No," was the answer given in sobs; "my daughter 
is not here." 

" Are you sure ? Are there no marks on your child by 
which you might know her .-^ " 

" None, Colonel ; she was a perfect and spotless child." 

" Did you never sing to your little girl ? And is there 
no hymn that she was fond of? " 



115 

" Oh yes ! " was the answer ; " I often sang her to sleep 
in my arms with an old German hymn we all loved so 
well." 

"Well," said Colonel Boquet, "just sing that hymn as 
you and I walk along the line of girls. It may touch the 
right spot and give her to you again." 

'• It's no use, good man ; she is not here, and, besides, 
the soldiers will all laugh at an old German woman like 
me." 

But the colonel pleaded on, and at last Mrs. Hartman 
began in a clear, loud, but tremulous voice to sing : — 

" Alone, and yet not all alone, am I 
In this lone wilderness." 

Everybody turned to look and listen. It was a touch- 
ing scene. The pious old widow's hands were clasped 
in prayer. Her eyes were closed. Her snow-white hair 
made her upturned face fairly radiant, as the sun bathed 
her in light. When she sang the second line, a shrill, 
sharp cry was heard. It came from the heart of Sawque- 
hanna. 

In an instant she rushed to the singer's side, threw her 
bare arms around her neck, and sobbed " Mother ; " and 
then Regina joined her mother in singing again the dear 
old song of their cabin home. 

" Alone, and yet not all alone, am I 

In this lone wilderness. 
I feel my Savior always nigh ; 

He comes the weary hours to bless. 
I am with Him, and He with me, 
E'en here alone I cannot be." 



ii6 



WASHINGTON AND THE HALF KING. 



PART I. 



WHEN George Washington was twenty-one years old, 
a letter came to him from Governor Dinwiddle, of 
Virginia, telling him to start as soon as possible and go 
over the mountains to the Ohio River. He was told to find 

out where the French 
forts were, and ask the 
French why they made 
prisoners of our traders 
and took possession of 
land which belonged to 
the English. 

Washington had been 
a surveyor and was fa- 
miliar with forest and 
camp life. He started the 
same day that his com- 
mission came. At Fred- 
Major George Washington. ericksburg he engaged 
Jacob Van Braam, a Dutchman, for his interpreter. These 
two men then went to Alexandria and bought many things 
necessary for their journey. 

At Winchester they collected horses and baggage, and 
pushed on to Wills Creek, where, on November 14, 1753, 
Washington engaged Christopher Gist, the great hunter, 
to act as guide. Four other men, two of whom were 
I.ulian traders, were also hired to go along. 




117 

This party of seven spent eight days riding through rain 
and snow before they reached the house of Frazer, the 
trader, who Hved at the mouth of Turtle Creek, on the 
Monongahela River. Here they wished to cross, in order 
to reach Logstown, on the south side of the Ohio ; but the 
Monongahela was too high, and they were afraid to swim' 
the horses. They accordingly rode to the forks of the 
Ohio, and waited for a canoe. 

''The land in the fork," says Washington, *' is extremel)- 
well situated for a fort, as it has the absolute command of 
both rivers. . . . [It] is twenty-five feet above the com- 
mon surface of the water, and a considerable bottom of 
flat, well-timbered land all around it very convenient for 
building. The rivers are each a quarter of a mile or more 
across, and run very nearly at right angles ; Allegheny 
bearing northeast, and the Monongahela southeast. The 
former of these two is a very rapid and swift-running 
water, the other deep and still, without any perceptible 
fall ... a fort might be built [here] at much less expense 
than at any other place." 

As soon as the party reached Logstown, a runner was 
sent out for the Half King, who was some fifteen miles 
away at his hunting cabin, on Little Beaver Creek. A 
council was then held with the Indians, and Washington 
asked them, in the name of the Governor of Virginia, to 
furnish him with some of their young men for guides and 
guards. After asking them for advice and assistance, such 
as friends and allies were expected to furnish, he then 
gave them a string of wampum. Several Indians spoke 
in council before the Half King arose. Said he : — 

"Brother, you say we are one people. We shall put our 



ii8 

heart in hand and speak to our fathers, the French, con- 
cerning the speech they made to me, and you may depend 
that we will endeavor to be your guard. 

" Brother, as you have asked my advice, I hope you will 
be ruled by it, and stay until I can provide a company to 
go with you. The French speech belt is not here — I have 
to go for it to my hunting cabin. . . . The people whom 
I have ordered in are not yet come, and cannot until the 
third night from this, until which time, brother, I must beg 
you to stay. I intend to send the guard of Mingoes, Shan- 
nocks, and Delawares, that our brothers may see the love 
and loyalty we bear them." 

Washington listened to the Half King, but decided in 
his own mind that he would not wait. His orders from 
Virginia were to permit no delay. Why should he wait 
three days for a French speech belt ? To Washington 
this was mere nonsense. To Conrad Weiser it would have 
been very important. 

Washington thanked the great chief in the most suitable 
manner he could, and told him that delay was impossible. 
"The Half King," says Washington, ''was not pleased 
that I should offer to go before the time he had appointed." 

The Half King would not permit Washington to go 
without a guard ; he said that it was not safe. If anything 
should happen to them, the Governor of Virginia would 
blame the Half King. This was a very important matter. 
"I intend," he said, "to give up the French speech belt, 
and make the Shawnees and Delawares do the same." 

To give back this speech belt meant that all friendship 
and communication between the Indians and the French 
should cease. Here was Washington's chance. Had he 



119 

gone into this plan with the spirit and skill of a Conrad 
Weiser, four great nations of Indians would have been 
turned against the French — the Senecas, Oneidas, Shaw- 
nees, and Delawares. 

Washington failed to understand the Indians. He could 
not trust them or take their advice. When he found that 
the Half King would not furnish a guard until the speech 
belt came, he waited very unwillingly. He had no faith in 
the Indians, and they soon lost faith in him. 

After three d^ys' delay only three chiefs and an Indian 
hunter agreed to accompany Washington. On the 4th of 
December they reached Venango, an old Indian town on 
the Allegheny River, at the mouth of French Creek. Here 
they found the French colors flying and met Captain Jon- 
caire, a French officer. That evening and the next day, 
which was very wet, Washington spent with Joncaire. 

The Half King was not invited to join them, because 
Washington feared that Joncaire might use means to per- 
suade him over to the French. But as soon as Joncaire 
heard that the Half King was in the village, he sent for 
him at once. He treated him as if he were a great man, 
and gave him many presents and much strong liquor. 

The next day, December 6th, the Half King was sober 
again, and although he felt that Washington had treated 
him very coldly, yet he desired to tell Joncaire the decision 
of the Seneca, the Delaware, and the Shawnee Indians. 
Washington tried to persuade him to put it off until they 
reached Fort Le Boeuf. The Half King replied that their 
council fire had been kindled at this place, and all their 
business with the French was to be done here, and that 
Monsieur Joncaire had sole charge of Indian affairs. 



I20 

Washington therefore yielded, and Half King made a 
speech to Joncaire. He told him that the Indians joined 
with Washington in asking the French to remove from 
this country. He then offered Joncaire the speech belt, 
but the wily Frenchman was too shrewd to take it. He 
desired the Half King to carry it to Fort Le Boeuf, and 
present it there. The next morning Monsieur Joncaire 
and La Force used every possible persuasion to prevent 
the Indian from going with Washington to Fort Le Boeuf. 
Washington told Davidson, the interpreter, not to be out 
of the Indians' presence one minute. He tried to per- 
suade them to come over to his tent, but they would not 
do it. One of the chiefs was opposed to giving up the 
speech belt. At last, with great effort, Mr. Gist succeeded 
in persuading the Indians to go with Washington, and 
they all set out at noon, December 7th. French Creek 
was too high to cross, and four days were spent in travel- 
ing through snow and rain, mires and swamps. On the 
1 2th of December they reached Fort Le Boeuf. 

PART II. 

Washington found Fort Le Boeuf ''situated on the 
south or west fork of French Creek, near the water, and 
almost surrounded by the creek and a small branch of it 
which forms a kind of island." He was led into the pres- 
ence of Legardeur de St. Pierre, the officer in command. 
Washington offered his commission and his letters, but 
St. Pierre begged him to keep them both until Monsieur 
Reparti, the captain from the next fort, on Presque Isle, 
should arrive. ' 



121 

St. Pierre had been in command at Le Boeuf only about 
seven days before Washington came there. 

Reparti arrived on the afternoon of the I2th, when 
Washington's letters were turned into French by the in- 
terpreter. The next day the French commanders held a 
council over Governor Dinwiddle's letter. Washington 
had already learned from Joncaire that the French in- 
tended to take possession of the Ohio on the basis of 
La Salle's discoveries. The French said that the nation 
which held the mouth of a river owned all the country 
drained by that river. 

The most important thing now in the eyes of the 
French was to turn the Indians against Washington and 
the English. When the Half King offered St. Pierre the 
speech belt, the Frenchman put off the time when he was 
to take it. He told the Half King that the French wanted 
to live in love and friendship with the Indians, that they 
were going to send some valuable goods down to Logstown, 
and if the Indians would wait a day or two, the French 
would give them each a present of a new gun. 

Washington was very anxious to start on the home trip. 
The French did everything they could to keep the Indians 
from going with him. In his journal Washington writes. 
*' I cannot say that ever in my life I suffered so much 
anxiety as I did in this affair ; I saw that every stratagem, 
which the most fruitful brain could invent, was practiced 
to win the Half King to their interest ; and that leaving 
him there was giving them the opportunity they aimed at. 
I went to the Half King and pressed him in the strongest 
terms to go ; he told me that the commandant would not 
discharge him until morning." 



122 

Washington did not know that the Indians placed great 
value upon hospitality and deliberation, and did not think 
it proper to hurry, unless their host gave his consent. 
Washington told the Half King that he would hold him 
to his promise. The Indian, therefore, rather than break 
his word, refused the French offer of much strong drink, 
and started back with Washington. At Venango Joncaire 
succeeded in persuading the Half King to remain behind. 
Washington writes that he knew that Monsieur Joncaire 
would employ every scheme to set the Indians against the 
English, as he had before done. " I told him [Half King] 
I hoped he would guard against his [Joncaire's] flattery, 
and let no fine speeches influence him in their favor. 
He desired that I might not be concerned, for he knew 
the French too well for anything to engage him in their 
favor, and though he could not go down with us, he yet 
would endeavor to meet me at the Forks, since he had a 
speech which he wished to send to the Governor of Vir- 
ginia. He said he would send the young hunter to attend 
us, and get provisions if wanted." 

Washington was so eager to get home that he did not 
wait to receive any further favors from the Indians. The 
horses, which had been forced to live on leaves and such 
grass as could be found, were too weak to go faster than 
in a slow walk. Washington therefore put himself in an 
Indian hunting dress, and traveled three days with the 
horses. He found this was too slow. The horses were 
then left with Van Braam, who was to bring them on as 
best he could. 

" I took my necessary papers," says Washington, 
" pulled off my clothes, and tied myself up in a watch 



123 

coat. Then with gun in hand and a pack on my back, 
in which were my papers and provisions, I set out with 
Mr. Gist," who was dressed in the same manner. The 
next day, December 27, near a place called Murdering 
Town, on the southeast fork of Beaver Creek, where they 
intended to leave the path and go directly across the 
country to Shannapin Town, near the forks of the Ohio, 
they were met by a party of French Indians. One of 
these called Gist by his Indian name, and seemed glad 
to see him. Gist mistrusted the man, and Washington 
quickly realized that the Indian meant no good. He 
acted as their guide most of the day. The two white 
men grew uneasy. The Indian said that he could hear 
a gun from his cabin. Washington told him to stop at 
the next stream. They went on until they came to water 
by a clear meadow. 

" It was very light and snow was on the ground," says 
Gist. " The Indian made a stop, and turned about. The 
major [Washington] saw him point his gun toward us, 
and he fired. Said the major, * Are you shot ? ' 

'' ' No,' said I ; upon which the Indian ran forward to 
a big standing oak, and began loading his gun, but we 
were soon with him. I could have killed him, but the 
major would not suffer me. We let him charge his gun. 
We found he put in a ball. Then we took charge of 
him. Either the major or I always stood by the guns. 
We made him make a fire for us by a little run, as if we 
intended to sleep there. I said to the major, * As you 
will not have him killed, we must get him away, and then 
we must travel all night.' Upon which I said to the 
Indian, *I suppose you were lost and fired your gun.' 



124 

He said he knew the way to his cabin, and it was but 
a Uttle way. 'Well,' said I, 'do you go home, and as 
we are tired, we will follow your track in the morning. 
Here is a cake of bread for you, and you must give us 
meat for it in the morning.' 

" He was glad to get away. I followed him and listened 
until he was fairly out of the way ; and then we went 
about a half a mile, when we made a fire, set our compass, 
fixed our course, and traveled all night. In the morning 
we were at the head of Piny Creek." 

They traveled the next day also, reaching the Allegheny 
River a short distance above the forks, after it was quite 
dark. The river was full of floating ice. They decided 
to cross here. A whole day was spent in making a raft 
with "one poor hatchet." 

" When we were halfway over," says Washington, " we 
were jammed in the ice in such a manner that we expected 
every moment our ra^ft to sink, and ourselves to perish. 
I put out my setting pole to try to stop the raft, that 
the ice might pass by ; when the rapidity of the stream 
threw it with such violence against the pole, that it jerked 
me out into ten feet of water ; but I fortunately saved 
myself by catching hold of one of the raft logs. Not- 
withstanding all our efforts, we could not get to either 
shore, but were obliged, as we were near an island, to 
quit our raft and make to it. The cold was so extremely 
severe that Mr. Gist had all his fingers and some of his 
toes frozen, and the water was shut so hard, that we 
found no difficulty in getting off the island on the ice 
in the morning." 

They went at once to the house of Frazer, the trader. 



125 

While Gist was hunting the horses, Washington went up 
the river about three miles, to visit Queen Aliquippa. This 
celebrated Indian lived at the mouth of the Youghiogheny. 
She appeared very much concerned that Washington had 
not visited her on his journey up the river. " I made 
her," he says, ''a present of a watch coat and a bottle 
of rum, which latter was thought the better present of 
the two." 

On the I St of January, 1754, they reached Mr. Gist's 
farm, where Washington bought a horse and a saddle. 
On his way to Virginia, he met seventeen horses loaded 
with material and stores for a fort at the forks of the 
Ohio. Several families were going with them to settle 
in that country, which they said was a part of Virginia. 




Washington visits Queen Aliquippa. 



w 



126 



CAPTAIN STOBO. 

HEN George Washington surrendered Fort Neces- 
sity to the French, he also gave up two of his 
soldiers as a pledge that he would keep the promises he 
had made. Captain Stobo, a Scotchman, was one of these 
men. He was taken to Fort Duquesne, and there held as 
a prisoner. 

The French were very friendly with the Delaware and 
Shawnee Indians, allowing them to come to and go from 
the fort whenever they pleased. It was not necessary for 
an Indian to have a pass in order to enter or leave Fort 
Duquesne. 

One day Delaware George, who was a warm friend of 
the English, was sitting with Captain Stobo on the shady 
side of the barracks in the fort. 

" The French," said the old chief in a low whisper, 
'' want us Delawares to take up the hatchet against the 
English. Ihey gave us much wampum, sixteen very 
fine guns, two barrels of powder, and all the bullets we 
wanted. They gave us sixteen good suits of clothes, 
several old suits, also blankets and strouds. They asked 
us if we could stand by and see our father [the Governor 
of Canada] abused. The Shawnees made no answer, 
but our young men are inclined to join the French." 

" If you knew the treachery of the French as I do," said 
Stobo, '* you would never let your people join them." 

'* Delaware George," said the Indian, '' thinks he knows 
the French. They can't be trusted. But of late years the 
English are no better. It was the English who persuaded 



127 

the Iroquois at Albany [by treaty of July 6, 1754] to sell 
the Delaware hunting ground on the west branch of the 
Susquehanna. They deceived the Indian." 

*' Oh no, my dear friend," said Stobo, " you are mistaken. 
It was a fair bargain. The Iroquois were well paid when 
they agreed to sell all the land in Pennsylvania west of the 
Susquehanna and south of a line drawn from a point one 
mile above Penns Creek [now Selinsgrove] northwest to 
Lake Erie." (See map, page 43.) 

"Yes," said Delaware George, with some warmth, "but 
the Indian did not know the workings of the compass; 
they did not know that they were selling the west branch 
of the Susquehanna. The Delawares will never give up 
that land. The Albany treaty is driving them over to the 
French. Delaware George cannot stop it. To make mat- 
ters worse, you English have spread the report that the 
Delaware Indians helped the French at Fort Necessity. 
They know that is not true. There were not more than 
six or seven of our Indians with the French that day. 
Then the French say that Washington caused their mes- 
senger to be shot while he was trying to read Contrecoeur's 
letter to the Enghsh. If that is so, I can never trust Wash- 
ington again, and I fear that the Half King has already 
turned from him." 

" He careful, my friend," said Stobo. " Let me tell you 
the truth. I was at Fort Necessity. I know. My Indian 
brother must not believe all that the smooth-tongued 
Frenchmen tell him. Listen and mark the truth. After 
Washington returned from his journey to Fort Le Boeuf, 
Ensign Ward came here to build a fort for the English. 
It was April, 1754, before he could commence work. 



On the 17th, a large party of French and Indians came 
down the riv^er, and told Ward that he must surrender. 
The Half King wanted Ward to gain time by sending the 
demand to his superior officer. Contrecoeur, the French 
captain, would not listen to delay. He said that the fort 
must be given up at once. Ward had only forty men. 
He knew not what to do. So he surrendered the works 
and went up the Mcnongahela with his men. This was 
the beginning of the war. There was no blood shed, but 
this was the beginning of the war." 

** I always thought," said Delaware George, shaking his 
head, "that when the French captured the English traders 
on the Ohio, that was the beginning of the war. Trotter 
and his man had been here several months trading, and 
were starting to go east with two horseloads of furs, when 
the French captured them, took the goods, and sent the 
men to Canada and on across the great water as prisoners. 
That's enough to start a war. No people of spirit would 
put up with that." 

"You may be right," said Stobo, "but I was with 
Washington when the first shot was fired. We met Ward 
retreating when we reached Wills Creek, April 20th. We 
took his men, and pushed forward then for three wrecks, 
until we came to the Little Meadows. We found the 
Youghiogheny too full of rapids and rocks to allow us to 
float our cannon down the stream. 

"The Half King and his men acted as scouts. They 
came one day in a great hurry to tell us that the French 
were only eighteen miles away. We all hurried back to 
the Great Meadows, and cleared away the bushes, turning 
a gully into a trench until it became a charming field for 



129 

a battle. Christopher Gist soon came in from his planta- 
tion to tell us that the French had been at his place the 
day before. 

" At nine o'clock, on the night of May 27th, the Half 
King's runner came to tell us that they knew where the 
French were hid. We started at once with fifty men. It 
was dark as pitch, and the rain came down in torrents. 
The path was crooked and narrow. Seven of our men 
were lost in the woods. We fell over each other in the 
dark, groping along as best we could. We came to the 
camp of the Half King by daylight. A council was held. 
Did the French mean to attack us, or were they merely 
bringing a message from Contrecoeur ? ' It's no message,' 
said the Half King. ' Why do they lie hid in the woods 
so many days ? ' 

'* It was agreed that the Indians should attack on one 
side, and the English on the other. The French were 
found concealed among the rocks some distance from the 
road. Washington ordered his soldiers to fire. Jumon- 
ville and nine of his men were killed, twenty-two were 
taken prisoners, and one fellow escaped by running away 
before the battle commenced." 

'* Ugh ! ugh ! " grunted Delaware George ; *' now I see. 
The French say that Jumonville had a message, and tried 
to read it, but Washington ordered his men to shoot while 
Jumonville was reading. 

" Ugh ! ugh ! a good many Delawares and Shawnees 
said they would never trust the English after that. I told 
them to wait and hear the truth." 

"Yes," said Stobo, "the French used that story to turn 
the Indians against the English, but we gained in the end. 



130 

The Half King and Queen Aliquippa came with their 
warriors. The Half King's men sent their French scalps 
into the Ohio country to arouse the Indians there. Wash- 
ington returned to the Great Meadows, and went to work 
there on the fort." 

"Yes," said Delaware George, "that's just where Colonel 
Washington made his mistake. He took no advice from 
Half King. Any Indian could see that the meadow was 
low and wet, and not a fit place for a fort. Indian want 
him to come out on the river hills. Half King sent out 
his scouts. Indians came from the Ohio country to help, 
but your people called them spies. They went home. 
Washington left the Meadows, and went to Gist's house: 
he saw this was no place for a fort. Time was lost. 
Horses were few, and they were weak. His men had to 
carry their baggage on their backs and drag their swivel 
guns. Your independent companies would not do a stroke 
of work. For eight days there was nothing to eat ; and 
when you retreated to the fort, there were only a few bags 
of flour there. You let the French get all your horses 
and cattle ; and when you reached the Meadows [July ist], 
your fort there was not half finished. You had been in 
this country for more than three months, yet when your 
enemies were upon you, Washington was not ready for 
them. 

" The English should have listened to the Indian. It 
was the Half King's tomahawk that killed Jumonville. 
Why did the Half King leave you then at the Great 
Meadows.? Yes, what turned the Half King against the 
English } " 

"That I don't know," said Stobo. "I've often won- 



131 

dered. He left us just when we needed him. If he had 
staid as he should, the French would have been driven 
back from Fort Necessity, and I shouldn't be a hostage 
here in Fort Duquesne." 

"You have no right to blame the Indian," said Dela- 
ware George, with some warmth ; " your people drove the 
Indian away. You said we helped the French at Fort 
Necessity. You know that is not true. There were not 
more than seven of our Delaware and Shawnee Indians 
with the French at that battle. I know that the Half 
King left Washington before the battle, but he had his 
reasons. Go ask him. He went to George Croghan's, 
at Aughwick. He could not starve. His words were 
tramped in the dust. He is a man." And Delaware 
George shrugged his shoulders. 

'' It was not Washington's fault," said Stobo. " He is 
a brave man. He listened too much to Indian talk. He 
could not get provisions or reinforcements. He fought 
all day July 4th, and it was the French who asked for a 
parley. They gave us the terms of surrender we asked. 
Washington is no coward. I am here as a pledge that 
the terms of the treaty shall be kept. But what is my 
life ? I would give it to put this fort in the hands of the 
English. 

" I know you can be trusted. Take this letter to Wash- 
ington. Tell him to send presents to the Indians here, to 
send two good men, and then with our friendly Indians 
here we can take the fort and hold it until the English 
come. Go, man ; you may never see Stobo any more, 
but stand by the English and persuade the Half King 
back if you can." 



^32 



THE HALF KING AT AUGHWICK. 

WASHINGTON had been defeated at Fort Neces- 
sity, and the French were using every possible 
means to induce the Indic=ns to turn againi-t the EngHsh. 

What will the Indians do now? everybody asked. The 
settler, working in the clearing, often glanced into the 
shadows along the edge of the woods. His children 
played closer to the cabin, and the little ones were afraid 
when they went to bed. The governor, too, wondered 
what the Indians would do now, and he sent Conrad 
Weiser to Aughwick, in September, 1754, to find out. 

There was danger in such a journey. If the Indians 
should turn against the English, Weiser might never re- 
turn alive. If Andrew Montour would go along, there 
would be less danger, because Andrew was a great man 
among the Delawares. His mother was a Frenchwoman, 
and his father was an Indian chief. The governor had 
given Montour a large plantation not far from Carlisle. 
Conrad Weiser knew that if he could persuade Andrew 
Montour to go with him, the business that he was under- 
taking could be more easily accomplished. 

Fortune favored Weiser, for the Half King, who was 
until his death a firm friend of the English, met Weiser at 
John Harris' Ferry (now Harrisburg). The following day, 
September i, Weiser and the Half King followed a bypath 
through the dark forest until they came to Andrew Mon- 
tour's farm. With the help of the Half King, it was not 
hard to persuade Andrew to go with them to Aughwick. 

There was great unrest among the Indians. Those 



133 

from the Ohio country were coming east in large numbers. 
Whole villages on the Ohio were breaking up, and the 
women and children were begging as they traveled towards 
the land of Onas. They had been told that Onas would 
feed them. Andrew Montour's wife complained that these 
Indians would steal the roasting ears from her corn field, 
and that she had been compelled to kill a sheep to keep 
the Indians from starving. Conrad, with great wisdom, 
gave her ^lo of the government money. This put the 
Montours in a good humor. Weiser knew that as long 
as the state would feed these roving bands of Indians 
there would be little danger of the Indians joining with 
the French. 

The next morning Weiser and his party started for 
Aughwick. Andrew said that they could reach George 
Croghan's that night, and it was not necessary to carry 
any provisions. After riding nine hours Aughwick was 
not found, and they were forced to sleep in the woods, 
after having had only a few blackberries for supper. At 
six o'clock the next morning they started without any 
breakfast. They soon passed "Trough Spring." At nine 
they came to " Shadow of Death," at eleven to " Black 
Logg," and at noon they heard the Indians at Aughwick 
firing guns to welcome them. 

The Indians appeared to be very glad to see Conrad 
Weiser, and, according to an ancient custom, crowded 
into the house where he was to be entertained. 

" Brother," they said, " we are glad to see you, and, as 
you came a great way through the woods, we come to 
wash off the sweat from your face, and the dusf from 
your eyes, in order to make you look the clearer about 



134 

you, and see us your brethren without anything between 
us. We also clear your throat in order to make you speak 
freely to us in what you have to say to us in behalf of the 
Governor of Pennsylvania, and clear your heart and mind 
from all prejudice whatsoever." 

Then they gave Weiser a string of wampum. After a 
short pause a Shawnee chief spoke : — 

"Last fall [1753] you advised us to be still and quiet 
and mind nothing of anything we should hear, and only 
mind and assist in council affairs. We have followed your 
advice. Do not think we lean towards the French be- 
cause we did not help Colonel Washington at the Great 
Meadows. By this belt of wampum we are still your 
friends and brethren as we always have been. Let the 
Half King speak ; he knows why he did not fight at the 
Great Meadows." 

Then the Half King spoke : — 

" Brethren, the Delaware is for the English. We no 
like the French. They all much talk. But, brother, the 
English are not all the sons of Onas. There are bad men 
in the woods. Our young men get too much liquor. It is 
hard then to make them mind. Your white brothers in 
Carolina made some of our young men prisoners. That 
was bad. The sons of Onas got them out of prison; that 
was good. One of them was a great warrior among the 
Shawnees. He died in prison. Only the Great Spirit 
knows how he came to his end. Blame not the Shawnees 
because they were not with Washington at the Great 
Meadows. Remember that the Half King started there. 
Your Colonel Washington is a good-natured man, but he 
does not know. He commands the Indians as slaves, and 



135 

would have them on the out scout, and make them .itock 
the enemy alone. His ear will not listen to an Indian. 
He lay at one place from one full moon to the other, 
and made no fortification at all but that little thing upon 
the meadow where he thought the French would come up 
to him in open field. Had he taken Half King's advice, 
had he built what the Half King told him, he could have 
beaten the French. We Indians all carried off our 
wives and children before the battle commenced, because 
Colonel Washington would never listen to us, but was 
always driving us to fight by his directions. The French 
listen to the red man, but the Half King knows that the 
French are cowards, and he thinks that the English are 
fools." 

Then Conrad Weiser arose. His heart was heavy with 
trouble. He knew that the white man's promises to the 
Indian could not be kept, because the governor and the 
Assembly were quarreling every day. He knew that his 
advice about the Indians had not been taken. He knew 
that all the Delaware tribes were just on the point of 
going over to the French. He told the Indians, however, 
to put themselves under the protection of the province, 
and Brother Onas would keep them from all harm. 

Soon after this meeting at Aughwick, the Indians dis- 
covered that Conrad Weiser's words were not true. The 
Half King died at John Harris' Ferry and was buried on 
the banks of his beloved Susquehanna. The Delawares 
listened to the French and turned their hatchets toward 
the English. In less than a year the whole Delaware 
nation were burning and scalping among the settlers on 
the frontier. 



136 



PAXINOSA. 



IT was a beautiful day in autumn. The trees by the 
river were clothed in glory. The Indian boys were 
gathering chestnuts on the hills, while their fathers built a 
; . council fire on the river's bank. 

Around that fire, which burned 
all day and far into the night, came 
and went the wise men among 
""" the Indians. Their faces were 
stern, and many were smeared 
with war paint. 
For hours Pax'-i-nos'-a sat with 
/x ^^^ head in his hands and spoke 

(Sv ^l )^- '^' ^° ^^^^^' ^^^ ^^^' beautiful 
daughter sat by his feet, lean- 
ing her head against his knee, 
and looking dreamily across 
the peaceful river. 

Paxinosa was a sachem 
among the Shawnees. 
^H. He was deeply troubled. 
-^ He must decide to- 
day whether to turn his hatchet 
against the English or not. 

The shadows of the tall pines 
crept into the river bv;ture Paxinosa raised his head. When 
he looked around he saw the wise men of the Delawares 
seated in a large semicircle, with Tee'-dy-us'-cung, the 
king, in their midst. H2 noticed that the chiefs of the 




Paxinosa. 



137 

Shawnees had gathered near him. The young m^^.n^nd 
the warriors in their paint were waiting in silence behind 
the circle of their fathers. Not a sound was heard, save a 
whisper in the pines and a sigh from the resting river. 

All eyes fell upon Paxinosa. He turned toward Tee- 
dyuscung, the Delaware, and said, " Speak, brother ; my 
heart is still far from my mouth." 

After some moments' silence, Teedyuscung, the king, 
arose. A stream of sunshine which had stolen through 
the thick pine boughs fell upon the great muscles of his 
unclad arms and shook with the heaving of his bosom. 

" Why does our brother the Shawnee hold back ? There 
is more blood on the hatchet of the Shawnee than on the 
hatchet of the Delaware. My people have turned the 
edge of their hatchet toward the English. That fire will 
light the war dance of our young men to-night. Paxinosa, 
the Shawnee, must listen. A great cloud rose from the 
west [French threatening war] ; soon another black cloud 
arose in the east [English threatening war]. A big storm 
came. The Delaware was still true to the children of 
Brother Onas. After Colonel Washington's defeat our 
pale-faced brothers told many stories. They said that the 
Delawares were against the English. If they would charge 
us when we were innocent, they could do no more if we 
were guilty. This turned us against our brothers the 
Enghsh. 

"When we lived among them, they behaved very ill to 
us. They used us like dogs. They often saw us pinched 
with want and starving, and they had no pity on us. Some- 
times we were in liquor, a fault which you know we cannot 
always avoid, as we cannot govern ourselves when we come 



138 

where strong drink is. When we were in this condition, 
they turned us out of their houses and beat us, so that 
when we came to be sober we were not able to get up. 
At this very time they have put into prison the few strag- 
glers of our people that are among them. Do you call 
this brotherly treatment ? Don't you imagine such treat- 
ment must raise ill nature in our hearts ? 

'' And have we not good reason for what we are doing ? 
If we would let things go on as they are going, the English 
would subdue us and make slaves of us. Did not the long- 
knives of Carolina make prisoners of the Delawares ? Did 
not our uncles, the Mingoes, tell us not to strike the Eng- 
lish ? Did they not call us women ? They took the 
hatchet out of our hands. 

"Ta'-na-cha-ris'-on was a half king, but Teedyuscung is 
a whole king; he will make men out of his squaws." 

Whereupon all the wise men and warriors among the 
Delawares shouted, "jo-haw' " (a sign of approval). 

Then Teedyuscung gave a mighty war whoop, which all 
the hills gave back in echo. Silence fell upon the council. 
The shadows of the western hills were creeping far across 
the river. The wise men turned toward Paxinosa, who 
now arose, tall and straight in his old age. 

"There are still evil spirits in the land," he said; "they 
throw dust in your eyes and blind you. The traders and 
bad men who live in the edge of the woods are not the 
children of Onas. They live east of Susquehanna. The 
long-knives of Carolina took our children to jail. The sons 
of Onas caused the prison doors to be opened. Has our 
brother Teedyuscung forgotten that ? The great peace 
made by Brother Onas still lives in my heart. The path 



139 

between us and the white man is stained with blood. I 
would go and cover it with sand. I would pull up a big 
tree and bury the hatchet below it, and plant the tree, and 
when it grew, no man would mention war again. Paxinosa 
will not turn his hatchet against the sons of Onas. 

"The Delawares have dug up the hatchet; so have the 
Shawnees. They listened too much to the Frenchman. 
Paxinosa will go to Diago [Tioga] and live in peace. No 
blood from the sons of Onas shall stain his hands. I have 
no more words." 

That night there was a great war dance among the 
Indians. Then the Delawares and the Shawnees were 
against the English. Paxinosa went off and lived alone, 
since every Indian could decide for himself whether to go 
to war or to stay at home. He never gave up the hope 
of making peace between his people and the white man. 

When, in 1758, Frederick Christian Post went on his 
great journey to Ohio, to make peace between the Dela- 
wares and the people of Pennsylvania, Paxinosa's voice 
and influence went with him. 



3>«<C 



COLONEL JAMES SMITH AT FORT 
DUQUESNE. 

WHEN Colonel James Smith was eighteen years old, 
he was held by the French a prisoner in P'ort 
Duquesne. 

During the spring of 1755 he was one of a party of 
three hundred men helping Colonel James Burd to open a 



140 

road from Shippensburg to Bedford. When the work was 
nearly finished, Smith was sent, one day, to the rear to 
hurry along the wagons containing the provisions for the 
wood choppers. 

Having delivered his message. Smith and his companion 
were riding slowly along the road, when some Indians in a 
cedar thicket fired at them. Smith's horse reared and 
plunged, flinging his rider heavily upon the ground. 

Before Smith could get to his feet two Indians caught 
him, one by each arm. They ran with him over the moun- 
tain, until it was dark. They gave him that night an equal 
share of their scanty supper. 

The next night they were on the western slope of Laurel 
Mountain and saw in the distance the curling smoke of an 
Indian camp fire slowly rising from among the dark pines 
and hemlocks. Smith's captors fired their guns and raised 
the scalp halloo : a long yell for every scalp, followed by 
quick piercing shrieks. 

Young Smith trembled with fear when the hideously 
painted Indians ran out from the camp, shouting and yell- 
ing, and flourishing their tomahawks over their heads. No 
one, however, offered to hurt the prisoner, and he soon 
breathed more freely. 

The next evening Smith and his captors came in sight 
of Fort Duquesne. The scalp halloo was raised again, 
the guns and the cannon at the fort were fired, and the 
drums were beaten. 

A crowd of painted Indians gathered around Smith with 
shouts of delight. They quickly formed in two long 
straight lines, flourishing hatchets, ramrods, and switches, 
and calling loudly to Smith to run the gantlet. 



141 

The poor prisoner, never having seen anything of the 
kind before, was at a loss to know what to do. His Indian 
captors told him to run between the lines, and run fast. 
They were all going to strike him if they could. Smith 
was a swift runner and determined to end the matter as 
soon as possible. At every jump he was cut with switches 
or struck with ramrods. He had nearly reached the end, 
when a tall chief hit him on the back of the head with a 
large club. Smith fell to the ground, but, gaining his 
breath, he came quickly to his feet for another leap, when 
some one threw a handful of sand into his eyes. 

Blinded and smarting with pain, he tried to grope his 
way to the end of the line, but was again knocked down, 
and beaten until he was unconscious. When he came to 
his senses he was in Fort Duquesne, under the care of a 
French surgeon. He was too stiff and sore to move. He 
asked what he had done to merit such treatment. An 
Indian told him that was their way when prisoners were 
received. It was like an English " how d' ye do," and now 
he would be treated well. Smith said that he did not care 
to say " how d' ye do " to the Indians any more. 

In a few days the prisoner was able to walk about the 
fort with the aid of a cane. He wondered how soon Gen- 
eral Braddock would come. He was sure that he would 
be free then. The Indians told him that their scouts were 
on the mountains every day, watching Braddock's army. 

" He no man in the woods," said the Indian ; " two 
moons have come and gone since he left Wills Creek. 
He very slow. All day he make road, and go no further 
than Indian shoot two times." 

A Frenchman told Smith that Braddock left the Little 



142 

Crossing on Casselmans Creek, May 19th, with a picked 
force of about twelve hundred men, and twelve cannons, 
crossed the Youghiogheny May 23d, and passed Fort 
Necessity at the Great Meadows. He then left the old 
trail and came north. On June 30th, he crossed the 
Youghiogheny once more at Stuarts. Here the Indian 
laughed, and said, — 

'' Braddock never take this fort. He march too close 
in the woods. His scouts are no good." 

Then placing a number of red sticks close together in 
a row, he struck them, saying, — 

**\Ve shoot down Englishmen like pigeons." 

On the morning of July 8th, Smith heard that Brad- 
dock was coming down Crooked Run to the banks of the 
Monongahela. There was great commotion and excite- 
ment in the fort. The French were determined to de- 
stroy everything and run. Then Beaujeu, a young 
French officer, offered to go and lay an ambush for the 
English, if he could get the Indians to help him. But 
the Indians shook their heads, and said to Beaujeu, — 

" Do you want to die, my father, and destroy all your 
Indian children ? " 

That night the Indians held a council, and in the morn- 
ing decided not to go. 

Then Beaujeu, who was dressed like an Indian, leaped 
to his feet, and flourishing his hatchet, shouted, — 

" I'm going. I will meet the English. What ! Will 
you let your father go alone } " 

At this the Indians all gave a great shout, and jump- 
ing to their feet danced and flourished their tomahawks. 

Then James Smith with his cane slowly climbed the 



M3 

ramparts; sitting down, he saw barrels of powder and bul- 
lets rolled out by the great gate of the fort. There the 
excited Indians were hastily filling their powderhorns and 
bullet pouches. Then he saw them march away in single 
file ; silently under the shadows of the great trees they dis- 
appeared in the dark forest. He counted 637 Indians, 
146 Canadians, 72 regular soldiers, and 36 French officers 
and cadets going toward the fords of the Monongahela. 
He was sure that they would never come back. " They 
are going into the jaws of death," he murmured, "while I 
am going into the arms of freedom. Before the shadows 
turn on the river, Braddock will be here, and I will be 
free ! " 

Smith ate very little dinner, but sat on the ramparts all 
day, listening, listening, for the sound of an army or the 
glimpse of a redcoat. 

That was a long day for James Smith. During the 
afternoon a runner came in, saying that Braddock would 
surely be beaten. The French and Indians had sur- 
rounded the English in an ambush and were shooting 
them down like pigeons, and if the English did not run, 
there would not be a man left by sundown. It was not 
long before Smith heard the terrible scalp halloo, and his 
heart sank within him. News came that Braddock and 
most of his officers had been shot, and that the English 
ran like sheep. But one old chief said that the bluecoats 
from Virginia were brave. 

" They know how to fight. I shot two horses from 
under their leader, young Colonel Washington, and then I 
called together my best shots and told them to bring him 
down, but no one hit him. We had no silver bullets. He 



144 

is a great medicine man. They told me that he had been 
sick, and could hardly sit in the saddle. If he had been 
in Braddock's place, we shoidd have lost the day." And 
the old chief walked off. 

That night James Smith saw the -fires down by the river 
and heard the yells of the savages as they danced in fiend- 
ish glee around their prisoners. He saw the victims tied 




Burial of Braddock. 



to the stake and heard their screams when the cruel 
flames wrapped them from sight ; and he concluded that 
it was better to have run the gantlet than to have been 
captured .at Braddock's defeat. 

A few days later Smith was taken into Ohio by the 
Indian tribe which claimed him. After a few years he 
escaped to Kentucky, where his adventurous life was much 
like that of Daniel Boone the hunter. 



145 



HOW A COW'S TAIL SAVED JANE MAGUIRE. 

IN the sunny days of June, 1777, the settlers on Shavers 
Creek, six miles above Standing Stone, heard rumors of 
the approach of Indians. Felix Donnelly and his son 
Francis and Bartholomew Maguire hastily packed a few 
household goods upon their horses, sent young Jane 
Maguire ahead to drive her father's cow, mounted horses, 
and started for Standing Stone Fort. They had gone 
nearly half the journey in safety and were nearly opposite 
Cryders Mill, at the " Big Spring," when an Indian, hid 
in the rocks, shot young Donnelly. His father and Mr. 
Maguire caught the dead body before it fell from the 
horse, and urged their horses into a gallop. Three Indians 
sprang into the trail with terrific yells, and fired. The 
bodies of the Donnel]y$ fell to the ground. A bullet 
grazed Maguire's ear and cut off a bunch of his hair. 

Maguire's horse flew down the trail. In his excitement 
the man did not see his daughter. He passed her and 
soon reached the fort. The Indians scalped the Donnellys 
and rushed forward to capture Jane Maguire. The fleetest 
Indian soon overtook her, caught her by the dress, and with 
raised tomahawk demanded her surrender. She struggled 
to get away, and her dress was torn from her waist. Quick 
as a flash she leaped out of it, caught the cow's tail and 
gave it a twist, and the animal rushed madly down the 
trail. 

Jane Maguire held tight to the cow's tail, and before the 
surprised Indian knew what to do, the girl was out of sight 
and soon safe in the fort. 

W. AND B. — 10 



146 

The men in the fort set out to punish the savages ; but 
no trace of them was ever found. The Donnellys were 
buried at the fort, and Jane Maguire married a man 
named DowHng and moved to the Raystown Branch of 
the Juniata, where her grandchildren are still telling their 
children how their great-grandmother was saved by a 
cow's tail. 

CONNOLLY'S PLOT. 

AFTER the French and Indian War, Fort Pitt (Pitts- 
burg) was held by the English troops. General 
Gage commanded all the British forces in America. In 
October, 1772, he sent word to Major Edmundson at Fort 
Pitt to vacate the place and destroy the fort. The walls 
and buildings were pulled to pieces, and the pickets, stones, 
bricks, iron, and timber were sold for ^50, New York 
currency. The construction of this fort had cost the Eng- 
lish government ;^6o,ooo. 

Two years later Lord Dunmore, Governor of Virginia, 
passed through the little village of Pittsburg, on his way 
down the Ohio. He saw the ruined fort. For twenty-two 
years Virginia had been telling Pennsylvania that all this 
region around the forks of the Ohio did not belong to 
Penn's heirs. Pennsylvania replied that the charter given 
to William Penn by King Charles the Second, in 1681, 
said that the western boundary of the province should be 
drawn five degrees west from the Delaware River. Both 
states claimed Fort Pitt. 

Early in 1774, Dr. John Connolly came to the forks of 



147 " 

the Ohio, and took possession of the ruins of Fort Pitt in 
the name of Virginia. He called it, in honor of her 
governor. Fort Dun more. 

Arthur St. Clair, a magistrate in Westmoreland County, 
Pennsylvania, said that this was trespassing. He sent 
men to Pittsburg to arrest Connolly and take him to jail 
at Hannastown. In a short time Connolly gave bail for 
his appearance at court, and then the jailer let him go. 
He went at once to Staunton, Virginia, and secured a 
commission from Governor Dunmore, which said that 
Dr. John Connolly was now a justice of the peace in 
Augusta County, Virginia. 

By the latter part of March, Connolly returned to Pitts- 
burg, saying that all this country was a part of Augusta 
County, Virginia, and that Connolly, not St. Clair, was the 
right man now to send people to jail, and that the laws of 
Virginia would be put in force at once. 

When the Westmoreland County Court met, in April, at 
Hannastown to give out justice in the name of Pennsyl- 
vania, Connolly came over from Pittsburg with one hundred 
and fifty armed men, with drums beating and colors flying. 
He placed guards at the door of the little log courthouse 
and told the Westmoreland County magistrates that they 
could hold no court here without his permission. This was 
Virginia, not Pennsylvania, and, instead of allowing John 
Connolly to be tried before a Pennsylvania court, he, John 
Connolly, forbade any Pennsylvania court being held in 
Virginia. 

The Pennsylvania magistrates told Dr. Connolly that 
they were the proper persons to hold court at Hannas- 
town, that they would go on as they had been doing, and 



148 

look after the law in that section. They further said that 
rather than break the peace they would wait until the 
governors of Pennsylvania and Virginia could agree upon 
a line, which they would observe until the true line could 
be surveyed. With these statements the Pennsylvania 
magistrates concluded that it would be best to go home. 
Three of them lived at Pittsburg. The next day Connolly 
sent a man, whom he called the Augusta County sheriff, 
and had these men arrested. They refused to give bail 
for their appearance in a Virginia court. 

*' What have we done contrary to law ? " asked yEneas 
Mackay. " Do you mean to send us prisoners to a Vir- 
ginia jail.'* I'll go see the Governor of Virginia; I know 
that he will listen to reason." 

Connolly ordered the prisoners to be sent under guard 
to Staunton, but Mackay got permission to go by Williams- 
burg, where he persuaded Lord Dunmore to release them. 

Then Governor John Penn and the Governor of Virginia 
had a long and troublesome dispute about the boundary 
line. Penn wanted Mason and Dixon's line extended 
five degrees from the Delaware, and then a line parallel 
with that river to run north. Dunmore thought that 
a straight line would be much better, but insisted that 
Pittsburg should be in Virginia. While this dispute was 
going on, Connolly ruled the country. He rebuilt Fort 
Pitt, and stirred up the Indians in his favor. The Revolu- 
tionary War was breaking out at this time, and Connolly 
joined Lord Dunmore in the interest of the king and 
against the colonists He was appointed lieutenant colonel 
of the Queen's Rangers, and thjn entered into a plan to 
divide the northern from the southern colonics. 



149 

Connolly's instructions from Lord Dunmore covered 
eighteen sheets of paper. These were concealed in hol- 
low tin walking sticks, which had canvas glued over them 
in such a manner that they looked just like common canes. 
Connolly was instructed to pass through Fort Pitt, and 
with a few picked men to go down the Ohio River to the 
mouth of the Scioto, then up that stream until he came 
among the Shawnee, Delaware, and Wyandot Indians. 
These Indians had been driven, years before, from Penn- 
sylvania, and Connolly knew that it would be an easy 
matter to stir them to fight against the colonists. 

At Detroit Connolly was to collect a large force from 
Canada and the Indian country. The men and the sup- 
plies were to be gathered together early in the spring 
(1775) at Presque Isle on Lake Erie. 

After enough boats, bateaux, and provisions had been 
collected, the plan was to go down French Creek to 
Venango, to seize Pittsburg and make it headquarters, 
and then to cross the Alleghany Mountains with the 
entire force and enter Virginia from the back door. 

The leading towns were to be captured, and all com- 
munication between the northern and the southern colo- 
nies was to be cut off. If by any accident this plan should 
be discovered, Connolly and his men were to take boats 
and escape down the Mississippi River. Then they were 
to come round to Norfolk, where they could join Lord 
Dunmore. This was called Connolly's Plot. 

The scheming doctor was captured before he reached 
Pittsburg, and was lodged in jail in Maryland, and after- 
wards in Philadelphia. The western boundary of Penn- 
sylvania was not settled until after the Revolutionary War. 



ISO 



CAPTAIN OGDEN AND THE PENNYMITE 
WAR. 

AT one time all the Wyoming country was claimed by 
the Connecticut people. It was called Westmore- 
land. Penn's heirs sent Captain Amos Ogden there to 
hold the country in the name of Pennsylvania. There 
had been many quarrels and some loss of life. Finally, 
Zebulon Butler and the Connecticut men drove Ogden and 
his party into Fort Wyoming. Earthworks were thrown 
up, and the hill which overlooked Fort Wyoming was for- 
tified. If one of Ogden's men even held his hat above the 
ramparts on a stick, it was quickly riddled with bullets. 
Butler's men guarded both sides of the river, and were 
determined to starve out Ogden and his crowd. ''This 
beautiful valley," they said, "belongs to Connecticut, and 
not to Pennsylvania." 

Butler tied a shirt to a pole and walked out into the open 
ground in front of Fort Wyoming. When he came within 
gunshot of its wooden walls, a voice within shouted, — 

" What do you want ? " 

" I want to see Captain Ogden," said Butler. 

"Stand where you are," answered the voice behind the 
logs ; " Captain Ogden will come out." 

The rear gate of Fort Wyoming opened, and Ogden 
marched out alone to meet Butler. 

"I came," said Butler, "to know on what terms you 
would surrender the fort. It is only a matter of time when 
you will be forced to give up. If you will give me the fort, 
you may go with the promise that you and your men will 



never return to Wyoming again. We have no desire to 
have any blood spilled, but if you insist upon staying, we 
will batter down every log in your old fort. You know 
very well that this country belongs to Connecticut. The 
Susquehanna Land Company bought it from the Iroquois 
Indians in 1754. This is Westmoreland County, Connecti- 
cut, and you Pennsylvania people are invaders. I'll let you 
off with your lives if you go now. If you don't, you can take 
the consequences." 

Captain Ogden smiled, and replied, " I thank you for your 
offer, but Ogden never surrenders. I have been sent here 
by the proprietaries of Pennsylvania to defend their lands. 
Your old ' sea-to-sea ' charter don't give you a shadow of 
a claim out here on the Susquehanna River. King 
Charles's grant to the Duke of York cut off your western 
claims forever. This, sir, is Pennsylvania." 

''We are not here to discuss land claims," shouted 
Butler. '* Will you surrender or no ? " 

'' No," said Ogden. 

*' Then go back and starve," hissed Butler, as he 
turned and left. 

In less then an hour the little four-pounder, which 
Butler had captured some time before from Ogden's men, 
commenced firing on Fort Wyoming. The gunners were 
poor, and the ball was light. No damage was done. A 
sharp Yankee standing near said, "Well now, I guess I 
can build a gun what'll knock old Wyoming all to giblets." 

A log was cut from a big gum tree, and shaved to look 
like a cannon. It was bored with a pump tree auger and 
furnished with a touchhole. Then the whole thing was 
hooped with heavy iron bands. 



15^ 

"She can't bust now," said the Yankee. "She will 
knock the splinters out ; now mark 'e my words." 

The barrel w^as blackened, and the mouth painted red. 
It was mounted on a big wagon and hauled into the works 
nearest to Fort Wyoming. Then it was carefully loaded 
with a small charge of powder and ball. 

"This is jest to try her," said the Yankee. "You'll 
see a white flag on Fort Wyoming before night." 

With a fuse they touched it off. Ev^erybody in the 
Yankees' fort ran as if a blast was to explode. 

" She works like a charm. Now w^e'll load her right. 
Ram that powder in tight. Put in two balls ; now look 
out. You cowards had better all run again. Here she 
goes." And the Yankee touched the fuse again. The 
mountains echoed with the report. Never in that lovely 
valley had such a noise been heard before. The fort 
was full of smoke. The wooden cannon burst into a hun- 
dred pieces. Splinters were everywhere. Part of an iron 
hoop flew across the river. A shout went up from 
Ogden's men in Fort Wyoming. They laughed when the 
wooden cannon blew to pieces, but they did not laugh 
when their rations were passed around. Two scanty 
meals a day and warm water from the river was all they 
had. 

"We'll starve if we stay here," said one of the men. 

" I'll never surrender," said Ogden. "We can hold out 
scarcely ten days more. We must send a man to Philadel- 
phia for help." 

"You can't do it," replied one of the men. "A man 
can't get out of the fort, night or day. They'll shoot him 
if he even shows his hand in a loophole." 



153 

"You are a coward," said Ogden. "I'll go myself. 
We will have help. Ogden never sits still. You can 
keep the fort for two weeks if you chew your victuals 
slowly. I'll be back in ten days, or even less." 

" How will you get out of the fort .'' " they asked. 

"I'll show you this very night," said Ogden; and, true 
to his word, he did. 

It was a bright, moonlight night in July. Ogden waited 
until near midnight. He then tied his clothes into a 
bundle, with his hat on top, and, after fastening a string 
to them, climbed quietly down to the water. He swam 
out into the river and down the stream, lying on his 
back with only his nose and mouth above the water, and 
towing the bundle of clothes along some distance behind 
him. He was scarcely out from under the shadow of the 
fort before one of Butler's men caught sight of the bundle. 
" Bang," went his rifle. In an instant half a dozen guns 
were fired at the little black object. 

" It's only a log," said one of the Yankees. " It floats 
with the current. There is no use wasting powder on it." 
Nobody saw Ogden's nose moving quietly several yards 
below. 

After floating beyond the range of Butler's men, Ogden 
swam to the shore. Hastily dressing himself in his wet 
clothes, he set out for Philadelphia, which he reached in 
three days. He walked all the way. Help was quickly 
gathered by the proprietaries, although the people in 
Pennsylvania were mostly opposed to the war. They said 
that the dispute could have been settled without bloodshed. 
This was the proprietaries' quarrel, not theirs ; let the i 
King of England decide. Ogden, however, hurried back 



154 

with a large party of men, and ample provisions. They 
reached the summits of the mountains overlooking the 
Wyoming valley. They saw the smoke curling from Fort 
Wyoming ; the patches of cleared land, and the cabins of 
the Connecticut settlers ; the river Susquehanna, like a 
silver band, winding in and out among the green pines 
and hemlocks ; and over and beyond all, the mountains, 
blue and hazy, piled high beyond the northern bounds of 
the valley. 

''The grandest spot in all the world," said one of 
Ogden's men. " I'd like to have a farm along that river." 
The words were scarcely said, when a great shout arose 
all around them. Butler's men sprang out of the bushes 
from all sides. Ogden's men were surprised. While 
they were fighting Butler captured the provisions. That 
was what he wanted ; now Ogden might go with his 
men. Fort Wyoming was obliged to surrender. After 
the men in the fort gave themselves up, the " Pennymite 
war" came to an end, and the Connecticut people remained 
there in peace. Some years later, however, the Continental 
Congress decided that all this region belonged to the state 
of Pennsylvania, and not to Connecticut. 



y>^c 



MARY OUINN AND THE GREAT RUNAWAY. 

MARY MICHAEL lived with her mother in Germany. 
Her father was a soldier in the army of Frederick 
the Great. Their house was little and the fare plain. 
One day the mother was taken ill, and Mary had every- 



155 



thing to do. There was the house to keep, the Httle sister 
to watch, and her mother to nurse. 

Often Mary sat down in the Httle shed and cried. 
** Mother is getting weaker," she sobbed, "and there's no 
money in the purse to get her any good things to eat. 
And they won't let father have a furlough. Oh ! when 
will he come home ? " After a long, long week, her father 
Corinnius came home from the army. Mary cried with 
joy when she saw him. Now they could buy things for 
mother. Now she would soon get well. • But it was too 
late. Mary's mother lingered a few days and died at 
sunset with her hands in those of Corinnius. Her father's 
tears added to Mary's grief, but she had no tears now. 

A few weeks after 
the funeral, her j 
father came home ' 
again from the army 
and told Mary that 
he was going to take 
her and little sister 
and go to William 
Penn's land in Amer- 
ica. In that country 
men were not forced 
to live in the army, 
but could be with 
their families and work 

Corinnius could not pay the passage money for 

himself and his daughters. They sold themselves to work 
it out after they reached Pennsylvania. A man in Lan- 
caster bought Mary for three years. She was glad to give 




Redemptioners. 



156 

three years for her father's liberty. Her master and mis- 
tress were kind and good, and Mary soon grew happy 
again. She sang in the mornings like a bird. Work was 
easy. Her father was free, and her sister lived not far 
away. 

One day when Mary Michael was singing at her work, 
she looked up and saw Terrence Oiiinn stop his oxen in 
the street and look at her. Mary blushed, but Terrence, 
with the ox stick in his hand, came to the gate and asked 
her name. 

"That song would make my cabin a palace," he said. 
" Come, sing for me, my bonnie bird. I need a wife in 
my forest home." 

"Oh! I can't," said Mary; "I know you not, and, 
besides, my time is sold for nearly three years." 

" I'll buy thy time," said Terrence, quickly. He started 
at once to find her master, who drove a good bargain with 
the ardent lover. 

Six months later, Mary Michael became Mary Quinn 
and went with her husband to live in Buffalo valley, in 
what is now Union County. 

Here Mary would have been happy, were it not for her 
constant fear of the Indians, who were on the warpath 
most of the time during the Revolutionary War. She 
once saw a neighbor's house burned while the two little 
girls and their grandfather were hid in the straw at the 
barn. Every moment they expected that the Indians 
would set fire to the barn, but the savages were too busy 
to bother with an old barn containing nothing but a little 
.straw. They ran off to another house, but found no one 
in it. They commenced carrying things out of this house, 



157 



among which was a clock. This greatly pleased them, and 
they all sat down to look at it. Just then two white men, 
who were hid behind a stump fence, shouted at them. 
The Indians dropped the clock and all their plunder and 
ran off into the woods. Mary Quinn lay awake many, 
many nights, wondering what would become of her four 
little ones if the Indians should attack their house some- 
time. Her fears grew worse after she saw Mrs. Fought 
one day at a neigh- 
bor's. 

Mary had gone over 
to borrow some fire, 
when Mrs. Fought, 
who lived more than 
two miles away, came 
running through the 
clearing with her baby 
in her arms. Logs 
and bushes seemed 
no hindrance to the terrified mother, who rushed breath- 
less into the house. 

" I've run the whole distance with the Indians after me 
all the way," she said. " We were threshing flax. Baby 
was lying on a pile of straw near by. Little Bess, who 
has just learned to walk, was playing behind the barn. I 
never heard a sound until their dreadful war whoop 
pierced my very soul. Then I saw the Indians standing 
right in front of the barn. I caught the baby in my arms 
and jumped out the little barn door, and ran for life. 
There was little tottering Bess reaching out her arms and 
crying, * Oh, mother, take me along, too.' But I couldn't 




Indian Attack. 



158 

save them both. They took my poor little Bess. I'll 
never see her again." 

Mary Quinn did not sleep a wink that night. She 
could not help thinking of little Bessie Fought saying, 
" Oh, mother, take me along, too." 

The boys in the valley where Mary lived had agreed 
upon a system of signals, so that if the Indians surprised 
one family, the others would all know the danger soon. It 
was scarcely a week after Bessie Fought was lost before 
Mary Quinn heard the alarm one night. Her family were 
all sleeping with their clothes on, ready to run. Mary's 
sister lived with her then. They ran out into the dark. 
When they reached the strong house, Mary's sister did 
not come, and they rightly feared that the Indians had 
caught her. 

After this the savages became bolder. The people 
were full of fear. At last all the settlers in the valley de- 
cided to run away. They came down Buffalo Creek to the 
Susquehanna, where they met other settlers from up the 
river, more than a hundred families in all. The women 
and the children, with the provisions, were placed in canoes 
and boats, on rafts and in hog troughs, and floated down 
the river. The men divided and marched in single file on 
each side of the stream, guarding their precious freight 
from surprise by the Indians. The women managed the 
boats. Whenever a shoal stopped the craft they would 
leap into the water, and putting their shoulders to the boat 
would push it into a deej^er place. This was ever after- 
wards called the " Great Runaway." 

Some of the terrified people came to Northumberland 
and Sunbury, and others floated down the Susquehanna 



159 

River as far as John Harris' Ferry. Still others wandered 
into Lancaster and Berks counties, among their relations. 
The fleeing settlers frequently slept in the woods at night, 
and had little to eat save the berries found on the bushes. 
After the war was over, a number of these people went 
back to Buffalo valley again. 

It was forty-two years after this before Mary Quinn 
found her long-lost sister, who had been captured that 
dark night before the ** Great Runaway." They were 
both very old then. They often talked over the early 
days, free from any danger. 

** Yes," said Mary Quinn's sister, '* I was found, but 
poor little Bessie Fought was never heard from after- 
wards. I suspect that she was adopted among the Indi- 
ans, and, like Frances Slocum from Wyoming, lived happy 
and contented among them." 



3>»4< 



OPONTOPOS, OR ''LITTLE WHITE HEAD." 



o 



'-PON-TO'-POS was a little eight-year-old white boy 
who had been stolen away from his home by the 
Indians. He now had an Indian father and mother, and 
a little Indian brother about his own size. They told him 
that he was to live with them and become a big warrior. 
Then his new mother told him that she was going to 
cut off his hair. 

The little boy, however, did not want his hair cut. His 
white sister Mary had plaited it, and if the Indians cut 
it off he would lose the last thing left from his home 



i6o 

among the white people. The poor Httle boy kicked and 
screamed and cried, but the Indians held him tightly, 
until it was all off. They were very much pleased with 
his show of spirit, and named him Opontopos, which in 
Enghsh is " Little White Head." 

That night when he lay on his little blanket by the fire, 
he cried a long time to himself. He was still thinking of 
the day, the bright sunny morning, when the Indians took 
him away from his real home in Pennsylvania, near 
Turtle Creek in Westmoreland County. That morning 
was so bright ! Father had gone away early, and sister 
Mary made two fishhooks out of pins. How happy he 
and his brother Eli were as they marched down to the 
creek ! They felt big as two men while they were carry- 
ing the fishing poles, and whistling. The sun sparkled 
in the dew, and the birds sang all around. Fresh tears 
came to little Jimmie's eyes when he remembered how 
the Indians came. 

"What's that.?" said Eli, when they heard something 
like the tramping of horses. " Run up the bank, Jimmie, 
and see what it is." Jimmie had scarcely reached the 
top of the steep bank which bordered the stream, when he 
turned and shouted to Eli, *' Indians ! Indians ! run, Eli, 
run ! " 

Before Jimmie could get down the bank again, a big 
Indian caught him, and flourished his tomahawk over his 
head until he stopped crying. Eli fought with his fishing 
pole until he was overpowered. This seemed to please 
the Indians. They were laughing when they dragged Eli 
up the bank. Jimmie remembered being pulled along for 
a mile or two, when they met more Indians with horses. 



i6i 

They had a small black horse with a feather bed tied on 
his back. Jimmie and Eli were put up on this bed. Each 
day they rode further into the deep, dark forest. The 
first night Jimmie slept outside of the tent, and the next 
night it was Eli's turn to sleep outside. And so they 
traveled until they came to this little Indian village. Eli 
was taken on with another tribe, while Jimmie remained 
here. It was some time before he learned to understand 
the Indian talk, and answer to the name Opontopos, but 
it was not long before he learned to like his new life quite 
well. 

One night a white man came into the village. He took 
Opontopos upon his knee and talked to him and kept him 
all the evening. He was very kind to the homesick little 
Jimmie. Afterwards, when he was told that the man was 
Simon Girty, he remembered that his father had once 
said that Girty was worse than ten painted Indians. 
Little White Head wondered how such a man could be 
so kind. 

Some time after this, Opontopos and his little Indian 
brother were husking corn before the fire. They used 
knives to cut off all the husk except enough to plait into 
a loop with which to hang the ears up to dry. Opontopos 
laid down his knife to fix the block of wood upon which 
he was cutting the husks, when his little Indian brother, 
who was full of mischief, slipped that knife away and put 
a poor one in its place. Opontopos had a quick temper. 
He snatched the knife out of the other boy's hand in 
such a way as to cut his own hand very badly. The old 
squaw whipped the little Indian boy, and let Opontopos 
go. 

W. AND B. — II 



1 62 

The Indian father and mother usually sat on one side 
of the fire, and a crippled uncle with the boys took the 
other. The uncle often amused himself by having the 
boys wrestle. When they quarreled, as they often did, he 
would part them. 

One day the Indian father went out to hunt. He was 
hungry and tired when he came back late that afternoon, 
bringing home the hind quarter of a deer. He cut 
from it a piece of meat and put it on a stick before the 
fire. His knife being moist from cutting the meat, he 
leaned it against a block which was near the fire. The 
point was up so the blade might dry. The two boys were 
playing near. The little Indian was teasing his white 
brother by pulling long splinters from the fire and touching 
the hot ends to his naked hips. Opontopos told him sev- 
eral times that if he did not behave himself he would whip 
him, but the Indian boy went on teasing him. Suddenly, 
when one of the splinters burned a little more than the 
others had. Little White Head leaped to his feet, and 
catching the Indian boy threw him heavily upon the 
ground. Unfortunately, he fell partly on the upturned 
point of his father's knife, w^hich entered above the hips 
and near the back. 

The poor Indian boy gave a loud scream. Little White 
Head ran to the door, and looking around saw his Indian 
father reaching for his tomahawk. Quick as a flash little 
Opontopos scampered down the path toward the creek, 
and then running u]:) the stream some distance, crawled 
under a big rock and centred himself with leaves. There 
he lay trembling with fear until near night. 

Finally cold and hunger brought him out. He crept 



■63 

cautiously* along the edge of the stream, until he could see 
the smoke from the camp. Then he saw his Indian 
mother coming down to the creek after water. She 
beckoned to him to come and go back with her. Little 
White Head was afraid that he would be killed when he 
came into the wigwam ; but nobody said a cross word to 
him. When he saw his little brother lying there in much 
pain, he felt very sorry for what had happened. The 
Indian boy finally got .well. 

When the Revolutionary War was over, the Indian 
mother told Opontopos that they were going to send him 
back among his own people again. Little White Head 
did not want to go. They took him to his brother Eli, 
and both boys were sent to Fort Mcintosh (now Beaver), 
where they were exchanged. Opontopos now took his 
own name, James Lyon, and grew to be a useful man. 
He lived for many years in Beaver County, Pennsylvania. 



>J«<c 



THOMPSON THE CAPTIVE. 

MARY YOUNG lived near Spruce Creek in what is 
now Union County. One early spring morning, she 
and her father were out digging snakeroot to make tea 
for the horses. They took a gun along, lest a stray wolf 
or an Indian might appear. 

"It's best to be always on the watch," said Matthew 
Young. There's no telling when a Mingo (Iroquois) might 
turn up." 

Mary was very happy that morning. The sun was 



1 64 

bright and warm and it seemed mucli like spriVig. The 
birds were singing, and Mary was looking to see how soon 
the wild flowers might be out. Suddenly they heard the 
yell of an Indian. 

Matthew grasped his gun and said, *' Hurry, Mary ! 
We'll cross the flat and climb the north hill, and they'll 
not be likely to find us." 

Mary was slender and tall. She could run like a deer. 
Her long black hair lost its fastenings and floated out into 
the breeze. Unfortunately, she forgot her father's advice 
and sometimes trod on the soft earth instead of keeping 
on the stones as he had told her. 

In a few minutes the Indians saw the tracks. Another 
yell, and up the hill they rushed. Mary was caught by 
the hair before she reached the ridge. Her father was 
badly hurt, but he escaped. The Indians took Mary down 
into the flat again. She found that there were four Min- 
goes and one white man, Captain Thompson, who like her- 
self had been made a prisoner that morning. Poor Mary 
had lost one shoe, and her dress was badly torn, but 
there was no time to stop. 

All day they hurried towards the northwest. It soon 
became cold again, and after crossing White Deer Moun- 
tain there were deep streams to ford, and Mary's clothes 
were frozen so she could scarcely walk. They crossed 
the Susquehanna in two canoes and built their camp fire 
that night on Lycoming Creek. While the Indians were 
at a little distance cutting wood for. the fire. Captain 
Thompson turned to Mary and said, " You keep awake 
to-night. I am going to try to get away. They don't 
tie you. 1 think I can shp the cords. If we can reach 



i65 

the canoes on the river bank, we'll take them both, and 
they will never catch us again." 

After a very scanty supper the Indians tied Captain 
Thompson's hands behind his back and securely fastened 
the cords around two stout scrub oaks. 

There he lay upon the ground with his feet before the 
fire, scarcely able to move an inch. It was not long before 
the two Indians, who were lying one on each side of 
Thompson, were sleeping soundly. By twisting his head 
the captain soon learned where Mary Young was. She 
was on the opposite side of the fire, with two Indians 
near her. 

It did not take Thompson long to twist his hands 
free from the cords. He tried to get one of the 
tomahawks, but found that the Indians were lying 
upon them. He then took the stone which had been 
used in pounding corn. He kneeled near one of them 
and prepared to give him a deathblow on the temple. 
The Indian's head was wrapped in a blanket, and Thomp- 
son struck highc^r than the temple. The frightened sav- 
age gave a wild yell. Thompson started to run, but the 
cord which was stretched between the two scrub oaks 
tripped his feet and he fell. The other Indian caught 
him and raised his hatchet to strike. Then the wounded 
Indian spoke. Just what he said Thompson could not 
understand. Three times Thompson's captor raised the 
tomahawk to strike, and each time the blow was stayed 
by the bleeding Indian, who saved Thompson's life either 
from mercy or from a desire to keep him for future 
torture. 

In the morning the Indians took a gourd, and after 



1 66 

putting some shot in it, tied it to Thompson's waist. 
This he thought was his death warrant. A dipper duck 
was shot, and after the skin was carefully taken off it 
was opened in the front so that it could be pulled over 
the head of the wounded Indian. It looked like a 
feathered nightcap. 

The next evening Thompson was tied so tightly that 
he lost all feeling in his hands and feet. 

The Indians followed Lycoming Creek to its source, 
and, crossing the divide, went down Sugar Creek to the 
north branch of the Susquehanna. After this they did 
not tie their prisoners at night. Thompson had several 
chances to escape, but he was determined not to go with- 
out Mary Young. They were now over two hundred 
miles from home, and the Indians were certain that no 
attempts would be made to escape. The prisoners were 
already weak for want of food, and could be easily tracked 
in the soft deep snow which covered the mountains. 
Slavery and death were before them, and starvation be- 
hind them. 

Every evening the prisoners were sent out to gather 
wood for the fire. 

" Don't wait for me," said Mary Young to Thompson. 
" We can't both escape. You should have gone long 
before this. Each day takes you further from home. 
Don't mind me. Go now. Don't put it off another day. 
They mean to burn you at the stake, when they get you 
to their village. You know the meaning of that gourd at 
your waist .'^ Go. Leave me. We can't escape together." 

These words convinced Thompson that he should try to 
save his own life. Each time he brought wood to the fire, 



i6y 

he slipped a few grains of corn out of the pot into his 
pocket. For each arm load of wood he wandered further 
from the camp. At last when he had twenty-two grains 
of corn in his pocket and saw no one looking his way, he 
started to run. He took good care not to follow the direc- 
tion towards home. In his hurry he stepped upon a dead 
stick, the cracking of which frightened him. Then, mistak- 
ing the noise of tw^o trees rubbing together for the Indians, 
he ran with all his might until he reached a pond, where 
he buried himself up to the head. After waiting some 
time, and finding that the Indians did not come, he got 
out and climbed to the top of the mountain, and followed 
the ridges toward home. One night he slept in a hollow 
tree. Twice he was nearly captured by walking almost 
into an Indian camp before he knew it, but by squatting 
down in the bushes and remaining perfectly quiet until 
all suspicion was over, he succeeded in getting away. In 
addition to the twenty-two grains of corn, he had noth- 
ing to eat except two walnuts and the bone of a deer, 
which he found in the woods. He cracked the bone 
and ate the marrow. He followed the same trail back 
along Lycoming Creek. When near its mouth he was 
nearly drowned in trying to cross it. He was very weak, 
and the swift current carried him a considerable distance 
down the stream. 

When Thompson reached the Susquehanna River, he 
soon found one of the canoes which the Indians had used 
when they crossed. It was lying high upon the bank. 
The river had fallen. Thompson was too weak to push 
it into the water, but his iron will would not let him give 
up. He took a pole and some rollers, and finally managed 



i68 



to get it down the bank. After he got in he found the 
other canoe sunk in the edge of the river. Fearing that 
the Indians were following him, and knowing that they 
would use this canoe to capture him, he dipped the water 
out of it and lashed it behind. In this manner he floated 
down the Susquehanna. 

From where Williamsport now is, down to Watsontown, 
there were no settlers on either side of the river. Thomp- 
son grew so weak that he could only lie in the bottom of 
the boat and wave his hands. At Watsontown some one 
fortunately saw him. He was taken from the boat to a 
house and carefully fed on new milk until he grew stronger. 
It was some time before he could tell anything about 
himself. 

Mary Young remained behind, a prisoner among the 
Indians. There was great excitement after Thompson 
ran away. Two of the swiftest Indians followed him for 
some days, when they lost his trail and came back to 
camp. " He walk with the wind," said the Indian guide, 
speaking of Thompson. " He make no tracks. He hides 
in the water and sleeps in the tree. He builds no fire. 
He freeze. He starve." The Indians then took Mary 
Young on toward Central New York. The wounded In- 
dian grew weak and could not follow them. He seemed 
to be very much hurt, and Mary thought that he turned 
into the bushes to die. Mary's heart sank within her 
and tears came to her eyes, when the trail turned from the 
banks of the Susquehanna for the last time. That water 
ran by her home. Would she ever see it any more.'* 

Mary was adopted into a tribe of Indians and had an 
old squaw for a mother. When spring came this squaw 



169 

set Mary to hoeing corn. An old negro prisoner told her 
to hoe out the beans, which were planted with the corn, 
and said that the Indians would then sell her to the 
EngHsh in Canada. So Mary hoed out the beans. The 
squaw said that she was too stupid to learn to work, and 
sold her. She was purchased by a man in Montreal by 
the name of Young. 

Mary found that this man was her cousin. After the 
Revolutionary War was over, Mary came back to Spruce 
Creek. The people there told her that Captain Thomp- 
son returned the same spring that they were captured, 
and as soon as he grew strong enough, removed with his 
family to Chester County. 






i !nSBHHWiPPI^WI^^ 



I 



1-^ 



§r. 





Carpenters' Hall. 

INCIDENTS OF THE REVOLUTIONARY 

WAR. 

CARPENTERS' HALL. 

ON the 5th of September, 1774, the delegates of 
eleven colonies met at PhilacLlphia in the City 
Tavern, on Second Street, above Walnut, to select a place 
to hold the first Continental Congress. 

The Statehouse (Independence Hall) was likely to be 
used by the Assembly of Pennsylvania. The Car])rnters' 
Company had offered the use of their hall. So the dele- 
gates went to Carpenters' Hall to see how it would suit. 

171 



72 



]ohu ;nul Sanuiol Aihnns canio \vo\u Massachusetts to 
staiul lor Ircodoni ; (iO(Ul;c Washington, tall, modest, rcso- 
hito. tho hoi\> ol the HracKlock canipaii;!! in 1755. walked 
b\ the side ol Tatriek Heniv. whose eliuiuent speeeli 

ai;"a in s t the 
Stamp Aet in 
Ma\ . 1 ~(^^, rani;- 
round the worltl. 
Thomas Milllin, 
Sanuiel Rhoads, 
C'haiies I lumjih- 
re\s. ("ieorL;e 
l\i>ss. Joseph 
Ciallowa\-. John 
Dickinson, John 
Morton, and lul- 
ward Hid die 
weie rennsxl- 
xania's chosen 
delegates. 

lohn Adams 
said. "The\' took 
A view oi the 
voo\u antl ot the 
chamber, where there is an excellent library. The i;eneral 
cry was, ' This is a gmxl room.' The cpiestion was put 
whether we were satisfied with this room, and it passed in 
the atrn-matiye." 

Peyti">n Randolph was elected president, and Charles 
Thompson of Pennsylvania, who was not a member, was 
made secretary. Thus began the thst Continental Con- 




Rev. Duche and Wife. 



173 



gress. Business of so much importance came before the 
meeting that Samuel Adams arose on the second day and 
moved that hereafter the sessions should open with prayer. 

Rev. Jacob Duche of Christ Church the next morning read 
the 35th Psalm. A rumor had just reached Philadelphia 
that a British fleet had cannonaded and destroyed Boston. 
This Psalm seemed to suit the occasion so well that the 

whole assembly was 

profoundly moved. 

John Adams 
wrote : " I never saw 
a greater effect upon 
an audience. It 
seemed as if Heaven 
had ordained that 
Psalm to be read 
that morning. After 
this Mr. Duche, un- 
expectedly to every- 
body, struck out 
into an extemporar\' 
prayer, w^hich filled 
the bosom of every 
man present. I must 
confess I never heard 
a better prayer." 

You will want to read over 
public prayer for the help of 
American freedom : — 

"O Lord, our heavenly Father, high and mighty King 
of Kings and Lord of Lords ! who dost from Thy throne 




Christ Church. 

and (A-er again this fir.st 
Heaven in the cause of 



174 

behold all the dwellers on earth, and reignest with power 
supreme and uncontrolled over all nations, empires, and 
governments, look down in mercy, we beseech Thee, on 
these American States, who have fled to Ihee from the 
rod of the oppressor, and have thrown themselves on Thy 
gracious protection, desiring to be henceforth dependent 
only on Thee. To Thee they have appealed for the right- 
eousness of their cause ; to Thee do they now look up lor 
that countenance and support which Thou alone canst 
give. Take them, therefore, heavenly Father, under Thy 
nurturing care ; give them wisdom in council and valor in 
the field ; defeat the malicious designs of our cruel adver- 
saries ; convince them of the unrighteousness of their 
cause ; and if they still persist in their sanguinary purpose, 
oh, let the voice of Thy own unerring justice, sounding in 
their hearts, constrain them to drop the weapons of war 
from their unnerved hands in the day of battle. 

** Be Thou present, O God of Wisdom ! and direct the 
councils of this honorable assembly ; enable them to settle 
things on the best and surest foundation, that the scenes of 
blood may be speedily closed, that order, harmony, and 
peace may be effectually restored, and truth and justice, 
religion and piety, prevail and flourish among Thy people. 
Preserve the health of their bodies and the vigor of their 
minds ; shower down on them and the millions they here 
represent such as Thou seest expedient for them in this 
world, and crown them with everlasting glory in the world 
to come. 

"All this we ask in the name and through the merits of 
Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Savior. Amen." 

After six weeks' careful debate, this Congress adopted 



175 

fourteen measures. British goods were not to be imported 
into the colonies, in order to lessen the profits of the Eng- 
lish merchants, and to show that the colonists resented 
taxing the people without their consent, quartering troops 
in the colonies in time of peace, and trying men without a 
jury. Teas, wines, coffee, pepper, molasses, and sirups 
were not to be imported or used in the colonies. The 
slave trade between America and Africa was to be wholly 
stopped. More sheep were to be raised, and they were to 
be killed "as seldom as may be," and none were to be ex- 
ported. In this way the colonists planned to live as free 
from British supplies as possible, and to produce at home, 
as far as might be, the things they needed. 

This Congress grew out of a general meeting held in 
Carpenters' Hall, July 15, 1774. This meeting was at- 
tended by delegates from every part of Pennsylvania. It 
passed a declaration of rights, and resolved to invite all 
the colonies to send delegates to Philadelphia, for the pur- 
pose of acting as a unit against English oppression. 

When the Continental Congress met, it passed, in addi- 
tion to the above measures, the famous Declaration of 
Rights. The rights of the colonists were declared to be 
(i) the right to life, liberty, and property; (2) the right to 
tax themselves; (3) the right to assemble peacefully to 
petition against grievances; (4) the rights of Englishmen 
and of their charters. 

The Congress adjourned after a banquet at the City 
Tavern, given in honor of the members by the Assembly 
of Pennsylvania. John Adams proves that the Quakers 
at this meeting were not only cold-water men, as a rule, 
but true patriots as well : — 



1/6 

"A sentiment was given : ' May the sword of the parent 
never be stained by the blood of her children.' Two or 
three broadbrims were over against me at the table. One 
of them said : 'This is not a toast, but a prayer; come, let 
us join in it,' and they did so." 



iH^c 



THE PHILADELPHIA TEA PARTY. 

'' Pennsylvanians are to a man passionately fond of freedom, the 
birthright ot Americans, and at all events are determined to enjoy it." 
— From the notice sent to Captain Avers. 

BOSTON had a great tea party ; so had Philadelphia. 
Boston had hers November 5, 1773 ; and Philadelphia 

had hers October 16, 1773. Pennsylvania spoke first; 

Massachusetts followed, and in almost the same words. 

When news reached the 
colonies that a threepence 
tax on tea had been ordered 
by the mother country, the 
famous colonial printer, Colo- 
nel William Bradford of Phil- 
adelphia, proprietor of a well- 
known coffeehouse, was very 
angry. He saw two or three 
citizens passing his door, and 

fc '' called to them, " Let us call 

a mass meeting and pro- 
Colonel William Bradford. , , ,, 

test. 

'* It can't be done," was the answer; **the people are 

tired of public meetings, and it will prove a failure." 




177 

"Leave that business to me," said the aroused patriot; 
" I'll collect a town meeting for you. Prepare some re- 
solves, and — they shall be executed." And they were. 
An immense crowd met and passed eight resolutions. 
The sixth reads, " It is the duty of every American to 
oppose this act." The seventh declared that whoever 
handled this tea ''is an enemy to his country." The 
eighth provided for a committee to wait upon the firms 
that agreed to become agents for selling the tea, and to 
demand of them " at once to resign." 

The committee waited till news came that tea was on 
its way to Philadelphia before they acted. This delay 
explains w^hy the mass meeting was held early and the tea 
returned so late. If Captain Ayers had come earlier, who 
knows what these aroused and sturdy sons of Pennsylvania 
might have done .'' They spoke quickly. They acted as 
soon as the Polly came up the Delaware. 

Of the tea agents, Thomas and Isaac Wharton resigned; 
James and Drinker at first refused. The committee then 
handed them this notice and demanded an answer : — 



A CARD. 
The Public present their compliments to Messieurs James 
and Drinker. We are informed that you have this day re- 
ceived your commission to enslave your native Country and as 
your frivolous Plea of having received no Advice relative to the 
scandalous part you were to act in the Tea-Scheme can no 
longer serve your purpose nor divert our Attention, We ex- 
pect and desire You will immediately inform the Public, by a 
Line or two to be left at the Coffee-House, Whether you 
will or will not. renounce all pretensions to execute that Com- 
mission ? — That We May Govern Ourselves Accord- 
ingly. Philadelphia, December 2, 1773. 



W. AND B.- 



178 

Abel James of this firm was quick to resign. He 
pledged his word and his property and his young daugh- 
ter Rebecca, who at the time was standing on one of her 
father's large hogsheads, to keep his promise. 

The Delaware River pilots were cautioned to beware of 
Captain Ayers and his ship Polly, then due to arrive. As 
soon as the Polly reached Chester, swift horsemen carried 
the news to Philadelphia. The ship was stopped at 
Gloucester Point, and the committee, in no disguise what- 
ever, boarded the tea ship and handed Captain Ayers 
a rather warm letter. In it are these words : — 

" What think you, Captain, of a halter around your neck, 
ten gallons of liquid tar decanted on your pate, with the 
feathers of a dozen wild geese laid over that to enliven 
your appearance } 

'' P"ly to the place from whence you came. Fly without 
hesitation, without the formality of a protest, and above 
all, Captain Ayers, let us advise you to fly without the wild 
geese feathers." 

Monday morning, December 27, the people met in a great 
mass meeting. Captain Ayers was present. Eight thou- 
sand people crowded into the public square. They were all 
of one mind. It was resolved that the tea should not land, 
that Captain Ayers should carry it back immediately, and 
that he be given one day to obtain food and sail away. 

That this was short notice is true ; but the men of 
Philadelphia were in earnest. They would not buy r^e 
stamps under the Stamp Act. They would not now con- 
sent to be taxed against their will. England had gone too 
far. The colonies were ready to strike back. The air 
was full of revolution. The muttering^s of the storm of 



179 

two years later were plainly heard. That Pennsylvania 
was loyal to herself and the right in this tea party was 
clearly seen by every thoughtful man. 

Do you wonder what became of Captain Ayers and the 
tea .-* The Pennsylvania Packet, January 3, 1774, will tell 
you : — 

'' On Tuesday last, at three quarters of an hour after 
three o'clock, Capt. Ayers of the tea ship Polly left Arch 
Street Wharf to follow his ship to Reedy Island, and 
from thence to transport the East India Company's ad- 
venture to its OLD ROTTING PLACE in Leaden Hall Street, 
London." 

RODNEY'S RIDE. 



THE greatest ride of Revolu- 
tionary times was the ride of 
Cassar Rodney. Paul Revere rode 
to save army supplies at Lexing- 
ton and Concord, but Caesar Rod- 
ney rode to save the Declaration 
of Independence. 

In 1776, the colonies were in 
great excitement. War, cruel war, 
had come to destroy homes and 
government in America. The best 
men in the colonies were in Con- 
gress in old Independence Hall, in Philadelphia. Thomas 
Jefferson had written the great charter of our freedom, and 
July 1st it was presented to Congress by Benjamin Harri- 




i8o 

son of Virginia. Would these brave men dare to defy 
King George and his armies ? Yes ; if the colonies stood 
united for freedom. No ; if the colonies were divided. 

In Pennsylvania four of the seven delegates were op- 
posed ; and in Delaware Thomas McKean was for inde- 
pendence, George Read was opposed at this time, and 
Caesar Rodney was down in Sussex County, Delaware, 
pleading with the people to favor independence, and drill- 
ing the militia for the coming struggle. 

Samuel Adams and Benjamin Franklin persuaded two 
men from Pennsylvania to stay away, and thus had the 
Keystone State delegates ready to vote. But Caesar 
Rodney was needed to carry Delaware for the Declaration 
of Independence. 

Thomas McKean asked Benjamin Harrison to plead for 
time, and sent a horseman south on July i st to find Caesar 
Rodney and tell him to hasten to Philadelphia. 

As soon as General Rodney heard the news, he called 
out, " Saddle the black," sprang upon his faithful horse, 
faced the north, and galloped away. 

Eighty miles from Congress, and his presence needed to 
make this country free and independent ! This thought 
drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, and sent him flying 
northward. The sun went down. The moon and stars 
shone forth upon a single rider, rushing wildly through 
forest, over stream, by plantations. He knew his horse car- 
ried the destiny of America. The rider was born in Dover, 
I730> ^\'^s sheriff of Kent County in 175S, then justice 
and judge, and before 1762 he sat in the Delaware Assem- 
bly. In 1768, he offered in that Assembly resolutions 
** totally prohibiting the importation of slaves into the 



I8i 



province of Delaware," and pleaded so earnestly for its 
adoption that it lacked only two votes of passing. He 
had twice petitioned the king for freedom for his people. 
He was in 1769 speaker of the Assembly that sent him- 
self with McKean and Read to Congress. He entered 
Congress September 5, 1774. He was brigadier genera] 
of militia for Delaware, and a noble patriot. 

When the sun rose over Philadelphia July 4, 1776, and 
the anxious delegates gathered quietly in Independence 
Hall, Caesar Rodney was still many miles to the south. 
His horse was jaded, his own face, scarred by a cancer 
that finally cost him his life, showed signs of physical pain 
and of mental anxiety. He urged his horse along, and lo ! 
in the distance he could see the curling smoke of a 
hundred chimneys. He was nearing the city. If only 
the vote had not been taken ! Through the streets rang 
the sound of hurrying hoof beats, and into the yard 
before Independence Hall rushed a foaming, dusty steed. 
The rider sprang to the ground, gave his horse to a groom, 
and hastened to the door. 

The session had begun ; but his friend Thomas McKean 
was outside, waiting. Booted and spurred, tired and dusty, 
Caesar Rodney entered Congress by McKean's side. 

Delaware was called. McKean voted ''Aye," Read 
*'Nay"; and the famous rider then arose and said, "As 
I believe the voice of my constituents, and of all fair, sen- 
sible, and honest men is in favor of independence, and as 
my own judgment concurs with them, I vote for inde- 
pendence." 

When the news reached Dover on July 6th, late in the 
evening, the Assembly arose and gave three huzzas for 











•"' ^-^tJ 



Ml 



" ^M^^.^t.^Z^^^. !,, ///^, 












''/77/i^ 



The Signers ot ine Deci; 










^^Mf^ 



'7 ^at^^ ^Xa/i/^ 










on of Independeiice. 



1 84 

independence and three for Caesar Rodney. Then they 
took the picture of King George and put it on a staff, and 
gave it to the drummer of Rodney's mihtia, and he carried 
it before the president of the Assembly. They were fol- 
lowed, two by two, by all the patriots in Dover. They 
marched around the public square, and finally cast the 
picture of the king into a big bonfire that had been 
lighted in the square. 

As the flames leaped into the face of the cruel king, the 
president said, " Compelled by strong necessity, thus we 
destroy cveii the shadow of that king who refused to reign 
over a free people." 



THE OLD LIBERTY BELL. 



E\T^2RY person in this broad 
land is proud of the old 
Liberty Bell. It is a sacred and 
silent witness now of the great 
deeds of lo \g ago. 

November ist, 1751, Isaac 
Xorris, Thomas Leech, and VA- 
ward Warren, the superintend- 
ents of the old State house in 
Philadelphia, wrote to Robert 
Charles in London, ar.d nsked 

I him "to get us a good bell of 

about 2000 pounds weight." 

The bell came on the ship Matildu in August. 1752. 

When it was bun"; and tried for the sound, it was cracked 




185 



by a stroke of the clapper, without any violence whatever. 
Pass and Stow, of Philadelphia, re-cast it ; but it made 
such a poor sound that it was again broken up and re- 
cast. This time it was satisfactory. 

At last the bell was ready to be put in its place in the 
tower of the old Statehouse. The notice of this reads : — 
**June 7, 1753. Last week was raised and fixed in the 
State House steeple, the new great bell cast here by Pass 
and Stow, weigh- 
ing 2080 pounds, 
with this motto: 
Proclaim liberty 
throughout all 
the land, unto all 
the inhabitants 
thereof. Levit. 
XXV, 10." This 
motto was se- 
lected by Isaac 
Norris. 

On the 8th of July, 1776, this bell became famous, 
that day the Statehouse yard was crowded with eager 
patriots. They had met to hear the reading of the great 
Declaration of Independence. When it was read the 
multitude gave a mighty shout. But above the roar of 
human voices rang out, sharp and bold, the great bell. 
Its tongue spoke defiance to tyranny and comfort to the 
colonists. 

John Adams says, ''the great bell rang "all day, and 
almost all night." Its stern voice sounded from sea to sea. 
It called the men of Georgia to join the men of Massa- 




Where the Declaration was written. 



On 



1 86 

chusetts. It sounded through city and forest, calling 
merchant and farmer and forester to the front. Its notes 
rang across the rugged sea and sent a shudder through 
England. The Liberty Bell it was. It called the men of 
America to their duty. It rang for independence ! 

In 1777, it was hastily placed on a wagon and hurried 
to Allentown, that the British might not break it up and 
cast it into cannon. It was returned late in 1778. 

For fifty years it rang the glad tidings of liberty on 
every anniversary ! 

On the morning of July 8th, 1835, while it was tolling 
the solemn news of the death of Chief Justice Marshall, 
who died in Philadelphia two days before, and whose body 
was being conveyed to a boat to be sent to Virginia, it 
cracked ! 

On February 22, 1843, it was rung to celebrate the 
anniversary of the birth of the greatest American. But 
the old bell could not bear the strain, the crack lengthened 
and widened, and its tongue became silent forever. 



THE FIRST FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION. 

JOHN ADAMS was so happy over the adoption of the 
Declaration of Independence that he wrote his wife 
the next day that the American people ought to celebrate 
its anniversary with great joy. 

The next year, 1777, Congress was still in session in Phil- 
adelphia and made the day a holiday, in order to celebrate 
the occasion. This was the first celebration of the kind, 



1 87 

and it was so successful that it has been repeated ever 
since, and for many, many years July 4th has been a holi- 
day by law in every state in the Union. 

We can in no better way honor the great day than by 
doing as our fathers did in Philadelphia from the first, and 
you may know all about the first Fourth of July celebration 
from the following letter from John Adams, the second 
President of the United States, to his daughter : — 

Philadelphia, July 5, 1777. 
My dear Daughter : — 

Yesterday being the anniversary 
of American Independence, was celebrated here with a 
festivity and ceremony becoming the occasion. I am too 
old to delight in pretty descriptions, if I had a talent for 
them, otherwise a picture might be drawn which would 
please the fancy of a Whig, at least. The thought of 
taking any notice of this day was not conceived until the 
second of this month, and it was not mentioned until the 
third. It was too late to have a sermon, as every one 
wished, so this must be deferred another year. 

Congress determined to adjourn over that day, and to 
dine together. The general officers, and others in town 
were invited, after the President and Council, and Board of 
War of this State. In the morning, the Delaivare frigate, 
several large galleys, and other Continental armed vessels, 
the Pennsylvania ship, and row galleys, and guard boats, 
were all hauled off in the river, and several of them 
beautiful' y dressed in the colors of all nations, displayed 
about upon the masts, yards, and rigging. At one o'clock 
the ships were all manned ; that is, the men were all 



ordered aloft, and arranged upon the top-yards and 
shrouds, making a striking appearance — -of companies of 
men drawn up in order in the air. 

Then I went on board the Delazvair with the President 
and several gentlemen of the Marine Committee ; soon 
after which we were saluted with a charge of thirteen 
guns, which was followed by thirteen others from each 
other armed vessel in the river ; then the galleys followed 
the fire, and after them the guard boats. 

Then the President and company returned in the barge 
to the shore, and were saluted with three cheers from 
every ship, galley, and boat in the river. 

The wharves and shores were lined with a vast concourse 
of people, shouting and huzzaing in a manner which gave 
great joy to every friend of this country, and the utmost 
terror and dismay to every lurking Tory. 

At three, we went to dinner, and were very agreeably 
entertained with excellent company, good cheer, fine music 
from the band of Hessians taken at Trenton, and con- 
tinual volleys between every toast, from a company of 
soldiers drawn up in Second Street, before the City 
Tavern, where we dined. The toasts were in honor of 
our country and the heroes who had fallen in their pious 
efforts to defend her. After this, two troops of light- 
horse, raised in Maryland, accidentally here on their way 
to Camp, were paraded through Second Street ; after them 
a train of artillery, and then about a thousand infantry, 
now in this City, on their march to Camp, from North 
Carolina. All these marched into the Common, where 
they went through their firings and manoeuvers ; but I 
did not follow them. In the evening, I was walking 



1 89 

about the streets for a little fresh air and exercise, ana 
was surprised to find the whole city lighting up their 
candles at the windows. 

I walked most of the evening, and I think it was the 
most splendid illumination I ever saw ; a few surly 
houses were dark, but the lights were very universal. Con- 
sidering the lateness of the design, and the suddenness 
of the execution, I was amazed at the universal joy and 
alacrity that was discovered, and at the brilliancy and 
splendor of every part of this joyful exhibition. I had 
forgot the ringing of bells all day and evening, and the 
bonfires in the streets, and the fireworks played off. 

Had General Howe been here in disguise, or his 
master, this show would have given them the heartache. 
I am your affectionate father, 

John Adams. 

CAPTAIN PERCY AT THE BATTLE OF THE 
BRANDYWINE. 

ON a hot, sultry afternoon, September ii, 1777, Howe 
and Cornwallis surprised Washington at Birming- 
ham meeting house, and the battle of the Brandywine was 
fought. Early that morning the English army broke camp 
on the hills north of Kennett Square. Part of them under 
Knyphausen were to move over to Chadds Ford and keep 
Washington's attention there. The other division, under 
the command of Howe and Cornwallis, followed the old 
road toward Marshalton. Howe's movements were di- 
rected by Montressor, his chief engineer, who had been 



igo 

m the country for several years and was thoroughly fa- 
miliar with the locality. At Trimbles Ford, on the west 
branch of the Brandywine, the army turned toward the 
east, and it crossed the east branch at Jeffers Ford. Here 
some Wilmington merchants had stored a quantity of rare 
old liquors in Mr. Jeffers's cellar. They thought that the 
British army would, of course, attack Wilmington in their 
march from the ** Head of Elk " to Philadelphia. 

Before all of Howe's forces had crossed at the fording, 
the stores were found, and these wine casks nearly proved 
to be a greater enemy than the Americans at Birmingham 
meeting house. 

At Sconneltown, a little group of houses on the summits 
of the hills east of the stream, the Friends were holding 
their midweek meeting. The meeting house at Birming- 
ham was fitted up for a hospital, and the Friends had 
found it necessary to adjourn to the wheelwright shop at 
Sconneltown. While they were sitting there in silent wor- 
ship, much noise was heard around the door. A few per- 
sons stepped out. The noise and excitement went on. 
The meeting soon closed. When the Friends came out 
— the men clad in their plain coats and hats, and the 
women with their little white caps and long bonnets — 
they met a crowd of frightened people. The English, it 
was said, were coming, and were murdering everybody 
they met, young and old. The Friends told the people 
that this was a false report. The English would not hurt 
them. 

Suddenly all eyes were turned toward the hills beyond 
the Brandywine. The English were coming out of the 
woods into the fields. Their bayonets glistened in the 



191 

clear sunlight. The main body of the army while march- 
ing was a half mile in breadth. 

It was not long before the advance part of the army 
reached the heights at Sconneltown. Cornwallis, in his 
rich scarlet clothing, loaded with gold lace and epaulets, 
was an object of great curiosity to the half-frightened 
women and boys. They were attracted by the soft white 
hands of the officers and the mustaches of the Hessian 
soldiers. They had never seen such things before. The 
English made a short halt while they fed their horses 
upon green corn fodder, which was gathered from the 
field near by. They treated the people along the way 
in a civil manner and destroyed but little property. " If 
it had not been for your George Washington and your 
Declaration of Independence, we would never have drawn 
our swords against you," said one of the officers to a 
Friend he met at Sconneltown. 

The army hastened toward Strodes Mill, and com- 
menced climbing Osborne Hill. Some women in a neigh- 
boring house were busy baking pies. They were so 
excited while the soldiers were passing and the drums 
were beating, that they ran from the oven to the door, 
and back again to the dough tray. The bottom crust of 
some pies was rolled and placed in the dishes, then the 
women ran to the door again, and coming back forgot to 
place the apples in the pies, but clapped on the upper 
crust and put the pies into the oven. 

From Osborne Hill the British officers could see the 
American forces forming at Birmingham meeting house. 
*' The rebels fall into line well," said one of the colonels. 
Captain Percy was sad and silent as he glanced over the 



192 




Birmingham Meeting House. 



beautiful September landscape. He saw the hills fall 
away toward the Krandywine, and the high rolling fields 
and forest beyond fade into a dreamy blue in the distance. 
His face grew pale, and his bridle rein shook in his hand. 

"This is the place," he said; "I've seen these hills 
before." 

"When were you here.?" asked Ashton. 

" I was never here," he replied ; " but this country is as 
familiar to me as Northumberland in England. I have 
seen all this in a dream. I shall be killed in this battle ; " 
and turning to his servant Clifford, he said, " Come here, 
my boy ; take this purse, and my watch, and these mes- 
sages. Tell them that I died in obedience to the king's 



193 

commands. Then, turning to Ashton, he said, " This is 
not fear, but I know that this is my last battle." 

Percy then put spurs to his horse and rode rapidly 
toward Birmingham meeting house. There in the middle 
of the fray, near the northern wall of the graveyard, he 
was shot. After the Americans were driven back, Percy 
was carried into the meeting house and laid on the floor. 
The members of the Society of Friends, who acted as 
nurses, were very much drawn toward the young man, who 
was slowly dying. He told them that he was a near 
relative of the Duke of Northumberland, and that death 
had no terrors for him. He knew it all when he reached 
Osborne Hill that afternoon. He knew that this was the 
last day's sunshine he would ever see. He died that 
night. The next day the British buried Colonel Gordon 
and Captain Percy in one grave. A few days later a 
company of English horsemen came into the graveyard 
and rode their horses over and over the grave until all 
signs of it were gone. 

WASHINGTON AND LAFAYETTE'S ESCAPE. 

EARLY on the morning of September ii, 1777, Gen- 
eral Knyphausen, who commanded the Hessian sol- 
diers at the battle of Brandywine, broke camp near ** the 
Anvil" and marched down the state road past Hamerton 
and old Kennett meeting house. After reaching the Lan- 
caster Inn, they were met by American detachments from 
Maxwell's corps. From there to the Brandywine, these 
Americans disputed the ground. At the schoolhouse the 



194 

Hessian forces divided and drove Maxwell's men across 
the stream. Then Knyphausen located his men on the 
high ground west of the Brandywine. Their line ex- 
tended from opposite Brintons Ford south to Chadds 
Ford. Their instructions were to remain there and make 
some show of crossing. This would occupy the attention 
of Washington's army, thus giving Cornwallis and Howe 
a chance to get around behind the Americans. Perhaps 
they knew that Washington had directed General Sullivan 
to guard the crossings of the Brandywine from Brintons 
Ford as far as the forks of the stream. At any rate, 
Cornwallis and Howe crossed so far above the forks of 
the Brandywine that Sullivan failed to learn anything 
about it. The heavy fog of the morning made it difficult 
to get information. During the entire forenoon the two 
armies lay at Chadds Ford, watching each other. 

The day had scarcely cleared, when Major Furgesson 
concealed his riflemen in the edge of a wood, overlooking 
the slope and the meadows along the beautiful Brandy- 
wine. He could see the American lines along the east 
bank of the stream. Suddenly he noticed two horsemen 
coming slowly up the slope, towards where his men were 
lying. Who could they be ? As they came nearer, he 
whispered to one of his men, " Rebel officers ! Do you 
see that fellow in a hussar dress .-^ Doesn't he ride well.'* 
Look ! see that man who follows him, dressed in dark 
green and blue, with a big cocked hat. He's mounted on 
the best bay horse I've seen in America. They both sit 
easy in tho saddle, don't they .^ Go quickly, silently, bring 
to this stump threj of the best shots among Furgesson's 
celebrated riflemen. We'll put a stop to their curiosity." 



95 



Before this order could be obeyed, Furgesson felt 
ashamed of what he had done, and ordered his men 
not to fire. The two horsemen made a circuit around 
the field, examining the edge of the woods very closely, 
without going too near, the man in the hussar dress re- 
turning some distance from where Furgesson lay. But 
the man in green and blue came within a hundred yards 
of the edge of the woods. 
Furgesson stepped out 
from his hiding place 
and called to him. The 
fine bay horse w^alked 
on, and the stately-look- 
ing man turned in his 
saddle a moment. Fur- 
gesson called again, and 
made signs for him to 
stop. But the unknown 
man slowly rode away. 

Furgesson, in a let- 
ter written to a friend 
in America some years 
later, says: ''As I was within that distance at which, in 
the quickest firing, I could have lodged half a dozen balls 
in or about him before he was out of my reach, I had 
only to determine ; but it was not pleasant to fire at the 
back of an unoffending man who was doing his duty so 
coolly and carefully, so I let him alone." 

The next day, when Furgesson was telling this story to 
some wounded ofihcers who were with him in Birmingham 
meeting house, a surgeon, who had been dressing the 




General George Washington. 



196 

wounds of some American officers, said that Washington 
had been out all that morning with the light troops, 
and was accompanied only by a young French officer in 
a hussar dress. Washington, they said, was dressed in 
dark green and blue and was mounted on a fine bay 
horse. Furgesson replied to the surgeon that he was 
very glad that he did not know at the time who they 
were. It is thought that the young French officer was 
General Lafayette. He and Washington never knew the 
danger they had escaped. 



o>^< 



GENERAL ANTHONY WAYNE. 

HERE comes one of the greatest men in this coun- 
try," said Betsy Reese to her daughter Peggy. 
" Run into the shed, quick! pull down your sleeves, bring 
out the best goblet ; the general is a-going to stop for a 
drink of water." 

Just then General Wayne rode up, mounted on a fine 
roan horse. He wore a dingy red coat, a black rusty 
cravat, and a tarnished lace hat. 

Peggy came running with the goblet, one sleeve up and 
one down. Mrs. Reese had drawn a bucket of water. 
She held one rein of Wayne's restless steed while Peggy 
handed him the goblet brimful of clear, cold water. The 
general was very polite, and after many thanks and grace- 
ful bows hastened down the road, followed by a cloud of 
dust. 

" Sure, now, he's the same boy he used to be. Neither 



197 



big nor small, but stout and active, — the same bright eye 
and ruddy face. Did you see, girl, how he raised in his 
stirrups to bow ? Oh ! he's every inch a gentleman, he 
is. I lived with the Waynes when he was a baby. There 
are no boys like Anthony now." 

"Where did the Waynes live.?" asked Peggy, who was 
beginning to roll down 
the other sleeve. 

''Live ? Out at 
' Waynesborough,' in 
Easttown ; haven't I 
told you this many a 
time .'* He was Mr. 
Isaac Wjvne's only son. 
It was New Year's Day 
in '45 when he was born. 
What a baby he was, 
to be sure ! Ate and 
slept most of the time. 
I knew that there was 
a war coming just as ^^"^'^^ Anthony Wayne. 

soon as that boy was big enough to play. I never saw 
the like in all tny life. He played soldier all the time. 
He drilled them and marched them, and what snow forts 
he did build, with towers on the corners and piles of frozen 
snowballs inside! He was smart, too — a good sight 
smarter than you are, Peggy." 

" Well, I guess he didn't have the same mammy I had. 
It's not my fault." 

''You needn't get pouty about it, now\ You should have 
seen the general a-ciphering when he was a boy. He'd fill 

W. AND B. — 13 




a whole slate full of his big sums. Many's the time he 
got ahead of his daddy. When he was sixteen, they sent 
him to the Academy in Philadelphia. He never took 
much to Latin and such like, but he made his mark at 
figures. He came home with a compass and a chain, and 
said that he was a surveyor. I tell you, girl, it takes a 
smart man to measure land. But my lad Anthony, he could 
do it. Many's the time I've dusted his papers, all full of 
long rows of figures. Didn't the great Doctor Franklin 
pick him out from all the boys in this country, or Philadel- 
phia, as the best one to go to Nova Scotia to survey a 
great tract of new land ? I tell you, old Mr. Isaac Wayne 
was proud that day. Anthony was scarcely twenty-one 
years old. It was pretty dull and quiet around * Waynes- 
borough ' after Anthony was gone. Once Miss Polly Pen- 
rose, whose father was a rich storekeeper in Philadelphia, 
came up to stay awhile with Anthony's mother. I had 
my suspicions just as soon as I saw Miss Polly." 

" Did you think she'd steal ? " asked Peggy, innocently. 

" Steal ! Goodness gracious, child, have you lost your 
wits.'' Steal! Why, Mistress Polly was a lady, I'd have 
you know. She was there a-visiting. And as I was a- 
saying, I had my suspicions. Her eyes grew brighter, and 
her checks a little redder every time they would show her 
anything which was Anthony's. Mrs. Wayne had a patch- 
work quilt, and all the small diamond pieces were made 
from Anthony's little dresses and pants. Miss Polly was 
terribly taken with the quilt. I knew it then, and sure 
enough, when Anthony came home from Nova Scotia, the 
very first thing he did was to go and marry Miss Polly. 

" I tell you, girl, he was always particular about how - 



199 

he dressed. You wouldn't have seen him looking as he 
did this morning before the winter at Valley Forge. That 
winter was hard on him. He never wore dingy clothes 
before that. He used to be fond of white and blue uni- 
form. And his soldiers must be all trigged up before 
going into battle. Many a time I've heard him say that 
soldiers would fight better in trim, neat uniforms than in 
rags and dirt. Your father, girl, used to laugh about 
Wayne's barbers, one for each company. No soldier was 
allowed on parade unless washed and shaved, and with his 
hair plaited and powdered. The general was very strict 
about this, even after the boys had lost almost all their 
duds, and had little left except their hair and their beards. 
Their guns had to be polished and oiled, and they must 
stand up straight and march, just the same as if they had 
uniforms." 

"That's what you were thinking about," said Peggy, 
*' when you told me to roll down my sleeves. I didn't know 
then what you wanted." 

'' No, you never do till about a week afterwards. 
There's nothing quick about you, girl. 

'* As I was a-saying, I was at ' Waynesborough ' the 
night of the Paoli massacre. Such a time as we did have ! 

** Mistress Polly was very uneasy that night, and said 
that she knew something was going to happen. She 
didn't go to bed until after ten o'clock. We knew that the 
general was encamped within a few miles from us. She 
was a-counting on him coming over that night. And when 
he didn't come, she was sure that something must have 
happened. I told her that it was raining too hard for him 
to leave camp, and she knew what a great man he was to 



203 

Stand by his duty. A little after eleven Mrs. Wayne 
called me. She said that she was sure she heard a firing 
toward the camp. W^e raised the west window and could 
hjar it very plain in the distance. In less than half an 
hour a man came running down the road all out of breath. 
He told us that the British were trying to capture Wayne. 
'They came on us,' he said, 'in the dark. We knew that 
they were coming, and were lying in the rain with our 
guns under us, waiting for them. There were two of them 
to one of us. Wayne's a great fighter, I tell you. He 
kept us between the English and our camp fire until the 
baggage wagons and artillery could be drawn off. It was 
the hottest fire I was ever in. The general is too stub- 
born to retreat.' 

"'What are you running for.-^' said Mrs. Wayne. 'Why 
don't you go back this instant ? ' 

" ' I tell you it's no use for our little crowd to fight the 
whole British army,' he said, and ran on. Mistress Polly 
called him a coward, but it was too late ; he didn't hear it. 
I tell you, Mrs. Wayne was high-strung when her blood 
was up ! " 

"Well, I should have been scared all to pieces," said 
Peggy, who was standing with her arms akimbo. 

"So would any other woman except Mrs. Wayne," said 
Mrs. Reese. 

" But as I was a-saying," she continued, " Mrs. Wayne 
soon came down from her high horse. In a few minutes 
another deserter came along, and told us that the general 
was killed and all his soldiers captured. Then another 
man said that Wayne was taken prisoner. Then nobody 
came for a long time. The night was still and dark. 



20I 

The firing had all stopped. Not a sound could be heard. 
Mistress Polly sat leaning out of the window. She would 
have gone out into the night herself, but Mr. Robinson 
wouldn't let her. It seemed that hours had passed when, 
all of a sudden, we heard horsemen galloping down the 
road. 'There he comes,' said Mrs. Wayne, with a sigh of 
relief. 

"'It's the British,' said I; 'don't you hear their heavy 
horses .'' ' 

" Sure enough, in less time than a chicken winks they 
were all around the house. I was never so scared in all 
my life. I knew they would rob and burn and carry us 
all off prisoners. But Mistress Polly talked right up to 
them. She didn't seem a bit frightened. I tell you, she's 
all grit. They said they were after General Wayne. They 
knew that he must be hid in the house. 

" ' Then he isn't killed, and he's not a prisoner ! ' and 
Mrs. Wayne really thanked them for the good news. She 
told them that he had not been there that night. They 
might search the house, and she would expect them to 
behave like gentlemen. And they certainly did. They 
didn't disturb anything, and they treated Mrs. Wayne 
and me like two great ladies. They hunted through the 
closets, under the beds, and in the garret and cellar, and 
in the barn. They thanked Mrs. Wayne for her courtesy, 
and told her that they must take Robert and James along 
with them, and they hoped that no harm would come to 
her. It angered me that they took the men away, but they 
did so much better than we expected that we called them 
gentlemen. Abraham Robinson came and took care of 
us after that." 



202 



WAYNE'S CAMP AT YELLOW SPRINGS. 

CHRISTIAN HENCH was a determined Whig. He 
lived near the Yellow Springs, now Chester Springs. 

On the afternoon of September i6, 1777, Mr. Hench 
had been out salting his large herd of fat cattle. 

"That's as fine a bunch of steers as you'll find in 
the county," he said to a lame soldier standing near. 
" There were no such herds in Germany. A poor man 
could never work up there as he can here. I tell you, 
man, you've been in the army. You carry an English 
bullet in your leg. I hate European oppression as much 
as you do. Once, when I lived over there, my brother's 
family needed meat. My brother was poor. He could 
not see his family starve. He went out into the king's 
forest and shot a hare. The king's gamekeeper saw him, 
and shot him on the spot. I asked why my brother w^as 
killed. They told me to attend to my own affairs, and 
they would attend to theirs. Then and there I vowed not 
to live longer in a country where a man's life was not so 
much as that of a hare. 

** Yes, my man, I left Germany, and it was the best 
move I ever made. I thank God for what I have. And 
yet all I have is my country's if she needs it. I'd give 
yonder spotted heifer to know where General Washington 
is to-day. You fellows could have whipped the British 
at Brandywine if you had kept your eyes open in the 
morning. Did you know that Major Spear who lied to 
Washington.? I bjlieve that he lost us the battle. Come, 
man, cheer up, we'll whip the redcoats yet. I agree with 



203 

Anthony Wayne, that our cause deserves success, and we 
will get it. 

" Hello, what's that coming down the road ? Conti- 
nental soldiers, as sure as I'm alive ! And that fine roan 
horse is General Wayne's. I'd know that roan. 

" Hunting a camping place, are you ? Well, genera], 
you have known me for years. That field A\ill hold you, 
I'm a-thinking. Wait till I pull out the bars. Tell your 
men to help themselves. All I have is theirs. My losses 
cannot equal their sufferings." 

No second invitation was needed. The field was soon 
white with tents. Wood was hauled for the camp fires. 
The fine herd of fat cattle, the joy of the farmer's heart, 
was quickly driven from the meadow up to the barnyard, 
and the work of slaughter commenced. 

"Take all you need, boys," said Mr. Hench. "I know 
that you must be hungry. Had a battle this morning, eh ? 
Too wet for you, was it .'' Well, you are just like us farmers, 
— have to turn in when it rains." 

** Yes, sir," replied one of the soldiers. '*We were all 
ready for them this morning, on the hills south of the valley. 
But the rain came on, and our muskets and flints are in 
bad trim. Not more than half of the guns in our company 
are worth anything. I tell you, it was a good thing that it 
did rain. Indeed, Mr. Hench, it was a hard march for 
some of us. Rations are slim, and the roads are rough. 
A man with no shoes, and no dinner, and with all the 
clothes on his back wet through, doesn't find marching an 
easy job." 

Mr. Hench found that the soldiers were expert butchers. 
They took enough to make a good supper and breakfast. 



204 

As soon as the hides were taken from the steers, the 
soldiers spread the skins on the ground, hair side down, 
placed their torn and bleeding feet on the flesh side, and 
cut, with their knives, enough of the hide to tie roughly 
around the ankle. In this manner a number of them were 
shod when they marched away the next morning. 

How they shouted in the peach orchard while they 
filled their knapsacks, eating all the while ! 

Mrs. Hench commenced baking bread that evening as 
soon as the soldiers arrived. From that time until day- 
light, as fast as one lot of loaves was taken from the oven, 
another was ready to take its place. All night Mrs. Hench 
kneaded bread at the dough-tray. The half-famished sol- 
diers could scarcely wait until the bread was out of the 
oven. They pulled the loaves to pieces and devoured the 
bread by the handful. 

Two wounded officers occupied separate beds in one of 
Mrs. Hench's rooms. The next morning they fell into a 
dispute over the battle of Brandywine. Hard names were 
called. They determined to settle it by fighting a duel. 
They could sit up in bed and they could fight it there. 
They sent their servants downstairs to clean and load the 
pistols. 

Good Mrs. Hench, in some way, heard of the affair. 
She at once went to the servants and took the pistols from 
them. Then she went up to the officers' room and gave 
them a sound scolding for daring to disgrace her house by 
such doings. Before the officers left she succeeded in 
making peace between them. 

It was a happy band of soldiers that left Mr. Hench's 
farm the next morning. to march to French Creek, where 



205 

the powder works were. The soldiers' knapsacks were 
stuffed with meat, bread, and peaches. Those wearing 
the rawhide moccasins slapped their thighs and laughed. 
The sores on their feet felt much better. 

After Wayne's army left, Mr. Hench thought that it 
would not be safe to stay there. If the British should 
come, they would punish him for treating Wayne's men so 
well. Mr. Hench collected all his silver and gold and put 
it into an earthen milk crock, which he buried in one 
corner of the cellar. He told no one except his youngest 
daughter. 

*' If we are all killed," he said to her, " your life may be 
spared, and then you will know where the treasure is." 
Mr. Hench loaded his goods on a four-horse wagon, and, 
driving his stock before him, went far into the woods, 
where he camped for several days. 

When he returned he found things as he had left them, 
except that the fences had been destroyed by the British 
army. 

LIGHT-HORSE HARRY. 

AFTER the Paoli massacre, the British army pre- 
pared to cross the Schuylkill River. It had been 
encamped in the Great Valley not far from Valley Forge, 
and on the west side of the river. 

Cornwallis moved north into Schuylkill Township, 
burning fence rails and taking the farmers' provisions. 
Some of the stolen meat was salted in the drawers of 
Mrs. Anderson's best bureau. 



206 

Washington was on the east side of the Schuyikill, 
and determined to prevent the British from crossing. 
When CornwaUis gathered his soldiers opposite Parker 
Ford, Washington was sure that he intended either to 
cross here or to destroy the Continental powder works at 
Warwick on French Creek. By forced marches, Wash- 
ington massed his troops at Pottsville, now Pottstown. 

CornwaUis saw that his trick was working well. He 
drove his baggage wagons and artillery, with a large part 
of the army, across the river at Gordon's Ford (Phoenix- 
ville), and at Flatland Ford, a short distance below. 

Before Washington knew it, the greater portion of the 
English army was east of the Schuylkill, and the road 
to Philadelphia was open. 

General Washington always made the best of a defeat. 
He at once remembered that he had caused a quantity 
of flour to be collected at a large mill on the river, 
about halfway between the British army and Philadelphia ; 
and he decided to prevent this flour from falling into the 
hands of the English. Whom should he send on this 
dangerous mission } There were Colonel Hamilton (Alex- 
ander Hamilton) and Light-horse Harry (Henry Lee, father 
of Robert E. Lee), both young men, and full of dash. 

They quickly mounted their swift southern horses, and, 
with a few picked men, galloped rapidly around the Brit- 
ish army, and came to the top of a long hill leading down 
to the mill. Here two horsemen were left, with orders to 
fire their guns and rush down the hill as soon as they saw 
any British dragoons coming. 

At the foot of the hill was a bridge crossing the mill 
race to a road leading away from the river. 



20/ 

"If the English chase us," said young Lee, "we'll 
ride through that bridge, and escape into the country. 
Luce," he added, patting his favorite mare on the neck, 
"can outrun any English horse in all Cornwallis's army." 

"That may be," said the more cautious Hamilton, "if 
they don't hold the bridge, and head you off. To make 
sure against a surprise, I will get this boat ready for 
a pull across the river." 

" No need to waste time on an old mud boat," said Lee. 
" Stick to the saddle." 

Then they dismounted, hastily tied their horses, and ran 
into the mill. The astonished miller read their orders 
from Washington, and caught up his hat and ran out. 
The men set to work with a will, and rolled barrel after 
barrel of good flour into the race. The water ran thick 
paste to the river. 

" Let the Schuylkill, instead of Cornwallis, carry the 
bread of life past Philadelphia," shouted one of the men, 
as he rolled the last barrel of flour into the water. The 
words were scarcely out of his mouth when " Bang ! 
bang ! " went the guns of the frightened sentinels, who 
were racing headlong down the hill, with a party of Eng- 
lish dragoons close behind. 

" Run for the boat, boys," shouted Hamilton. " It's too 
late to make the bridge." 

Instantly four men tumbled into the boat with Hamilton. 

" Now pull for your lives," -yelled Lee. " I'll save three 
horses, and not overload the boat." 

" It's too late to make the bridge," said Hamilton. 
" Come with us." 

Lee sprang over an old millstone, and vaulted into the 



208 

saddle. The two remaining men followed him. Faithful 
Luce gathered herself for a race with death. With a great 
bound she sprang into the air. Spurs were not needed. 
Already the British dragoons, with swords drawn and 
carbines firing, were chasing the two sentinels toward the 
bridge. The distances were about equal, and the English 
were coming downhill. 

The English dragoons shouted with delight. Sure of 
their victims, they turned from the sentinels to capture 
Lee. But the Virginia-bred horses were fleet as the wind. 
They dashed into the bridge only a few rods in advance 
of the British, whose heavy horses and poor aim saved the 
lives of Lee and his men. 

The dragoons saw that it was useless to pursue further, 
and wheeled their horses in order to capture the party in 
the boat before they could get out of range. 

Hamilton's men were straining and bending their oars 
as they drove the boat across the current. The English 
bullets splashed in the water and glanced from their oars. 

" Pull, boys," said Hamilton. " Pull for your lives ! " 

Two of his faithful oarsmen were shot in the arms and 
shoulders, and had to lie down in the boat. Hamilton, 
who was steering, expected every minute to be shot in the 
back 

" Let her swing in the current," he said. ** It will 
change the range." 

The river caught the little boat like a chip, and swept 
it swiftly down the stream. The dragoons, who were 
cursing their luck in finding no boats fit for pursuit, 
rushed down the bank to get another shot. The boat was 
out of range. On the other shore Hamilton procured a 



209 

horse, and rode at full speed to Washington's headquar- 
ters. He feared that Lee had fallen into the hands of the 
British. Could anything be done to save him ? 

Washington was reading a letter when Hamilton ar- 
rived ; he looked up and smiled, saying, " This is a mes- 
sage just received from your friend Lee. I am happy to 
tell you that Light-horse Harry is safe. He writes to 
inform me that he fears that you, sir, are captured, and 
asks if nothing can be done to save you." 

*' Indeed, your honor, this relieves my mind more than 
anything that has happened lately," said Hamilton ; '' I 
was sure that Lee was captured. He's a brave and noble 
fellow. I rejoice in his escape." 

** Not any more than I do," said Washington. " I 
deeply regretted allowing you to go on such a hare- 
brained adventure. You are both too valuable to lose. 
Your interest in each other is very gratifying to me. It 
knits the South with the North — a much-needed thing in 
these times." 

WAYNE'S LETTERS TO HIS WIFE. 

YES indeed, Mrs. Wayne, of course I should, if you'll 
read them. You know that Anthony was my boy. 
Didn't I nurse him when he was a little codger ? Didn't 
I mend his clothes when he used to play soldier in the 
woods .? Yes indeed, you read me just what you Uke 
from his letters, and I'll be a-darning these stockings the 
while." And good Mrs. Reese, with an air of satisfaction 
on her face, settled down to her work. Mrs. Wayne had 



210 

in her hand a large pile of letters. The sheet and the 
envelope of each letter were all in one piece. The big red 
seals had the Wayne mark on many of them. 

" I'll not read you everything, Mrs. Reese," said Mrs. 
Wayne ; " I think I know what will interest you the most. 
Here's one from Fort Ticonderoga, August 12, 1776. 
You remember that Anthony had charge up there until 
he joined Washington. 




The Wayne Homestead. 

" ' Dear Pot.lv, — I wrote you by the messenger and 
sent you a small present. He will be able to give you a 
particular acc't of this place and army — but he will paint 
matters worse than they really are — within these two 
days we have been reinforced by three thousand New 
England militia ; fresh provision is become more plenty 
than salt ; and our ])eople have recovered health and 
spirits — I have now the finest and best Regiment in the 



211 

Continental Service — we are viewed with admiration and 
pleasure by all the officers in the army, and we have ren- 
dered our camp almost impregnable.' 

" That's exactly like Anthony ; he always sees the bright 
side of things. In the latter part of the letter he asks to 
be remembered to his friends and neighbors, saying, — 

** ' I hope yet to pass many an agreeable hour in your 
and their society — but if the fate of war should order it 
otherwise — they will remember I fell in the support of 
their Rights and the rights of mankind. 

" ' Adieu my Dear Girl 

** ' Ant'y Wayne.' 

"The next was in January, 1777. He had just heard of 
Washington's retreat across New Jersey, and I guess he 
was a little frightened about us here at ' Waynesborough.' 

" * Dear Polly, — I don't know where this will meet 
you. The rapid progress of the enemy through New Jer- 
sey only reached us last evening — perhaps they may now 
be in Phil'a. and ravaging the country for miles Round. 

" ' The Anxiety we are under on acc't of our families and 
friends is much better felt than expressed — should you 
be necessitated to leave Easttown — I doubt not but you'll 
meet with Hospitality in the Back parts of the provinces — 
The British Rebels may be successful for a time ; they 
may take and Destroy our Towns near the water and 
Distress us much But they never can — they never will 
subjugate the freeborn sons of America. 

" * Our growing Country can meet with Considerable 
Losses and survive them ; but one Defeat to our more 



212 

than Savage Enemy Ruins them forever^ ... we shall 
soon learn to face them in the field, and the day is not far 
off when we shall produce a conviction to the Wurld that 
we deserve to be free — I expect every hour to bj Relieved 
with orders to march to the Assistance of Gen'l Washing- 
ton ; I have 1500 Hardy Veterans left who will push hard 
for Victory and Revenge. ... I hope soon to lead them 
to Death or to Glory 

" ' Kiss my little boy and girl for me — 

" ' A. Wayne.' " 

''That's my boy Anthony over again," said Mrs. Reese. 
" He was never cast down by failure, and the little ones, 
he never forgot them ; no indeed, he never did." 

*'Yes," replied Mrs. Wayne, "he always remembered 
each member of the family. Look at the closing of this 
letter. Just read what is folded on the outside." 









213 

''The next letter," continued Mrs. Wayne, "is dated 
June 7, 1777. 

'' ' My Dear Polly, — I am extremely sorry to hear of 
your bad state of health — you must endeavor to keep up 
your spirits as well as possible — the times require great 
sacrifice to be made — the blessings of liberty cannot be 
purchased at too high a price — the blood and treasure of 
the choicest and best spirits of this land is but a trifling 
consideration for the rich inheritance — whether any of 
the present leaders will live to see it established in this 
once happy soil depends on Heaven ; but it must, it will 
one day rise in America. ... I would advise you to use 
every possible endeavor to get in your harvest yourself 
and not put it out on shares on no acc't as grain and hay 
will be at a prodigious price next winter. Have we no 
kind neighbors to lend a helping hand .'*... The educa- 
tion of my little children is a matter that gives me much 
concern and which I hope you will not neglect — I have 
already hinted that I expect my little son will not turn 
aside from virtue, though the path be marked with his 
father's blood — 

*' ' Farewell, God Bless you, 

'' ' Yours most sincerely, 

*' * Ant'y Wayne.' 

** A few weeks later Anthony was ordered into Penn- 
sylvania to meet the British at Brandywine. It was very 
hard for him not to get to ' Waynesborough ' that time, 
but he wrote to me to meet him at Naamans Creek. Mr. 
Robinson went with me and the children. They were 

W. AND B. — 14 



214 

overjoyed to see their papa. After that we saw him 
several times. His next important letter was written just 
before the battle of Germantown. 

"'Trappe, 30th Se[>t. 1777. 

'' ' Dear Polly, — I thought you had a mind far above 
being depressed at a little unfavorable circumstance — the 
enemys being in possession of Phila is of no more con- 
sequence than their being in the possession of the City of 
New York or Boston — they may hold it for a time — but 
must leave it with circumstances of shame and disgrace 
before the close of winter — 

** ' Our army is now in full health and spirits, and far 
stronger than it was at the Battle of Brandywine — we 
are daily receiving reinforcements, and are drawing near 
the enemy — who will shortly pay dear for the little 
advantage they have lately gained. ... it is our turn 
next — and altho' appearances are a little gloomy at pres- 
ent, — yet they will soon be dissipated and a more pleas- 
ing prospect take place — Give my kindest love and 
wishes to both our mothers and sisters — tell them my 
sword will shortly point out the way to victory peace 
and happiness — kiss our little people for me — Remove 
my books and valuable writings some distance from my 
own home — if not already done — this is but an act of 
prudence — and not to be considered as proceeding from 
any other motive 

" * Adieu my Dear Girl and 
" ' believe me Yours 
'"most Sincerely 

•"Ant'y Wayne.* 



215 

" In less than a week he wrote to me again. This was 
after the battle of Germantown. 

"*Camp near Pawling Mills — 
' 6th. of Oct. 1777. 

" * Dear Polly, — On the 4th. Instant at the dawn of day, 
we attacked General Howe's army at the upper end of 
Germantown — The action soon became general — when 
we advanced on the enemy with charged bayonets — they 
broke at once without waiting to receive us — but soon 
formed again — when a heavy and well directed fire took 
place on each side — The Enemy again gave way but 
being supported by the Grenadiers returned to the charge 
— Gen'l Sullivan's Division and Conway's Brigade were 
at this time engaged to the right or west of Germantown — 
whilst my Division had the whole right wing of the enemy's 
army to encounter on the left or east of the Town — two 
thirds of our army being then too far to the east to afford 
us any assistance. However the unparalleled bravery of 
the troops surmounted every difficulty, and the enemy 
retreated in the utmost confusion — the fog together with 
the smoke occasioned by our cannon and musketry made 
it almost as dark as night — ... we had now pushed 
the enemy near three miles and were in possession of their 
whole encampment when a large body of troops were 
discovered advancing on our left flank — which being 
taken for the enemy we retreated . . . the fog and this 
mistake prevented us from following a victory that in all 
human probability would have put an end to the American 
war. The battle continued from daylight until near twelve 
o'clock — I had forgotten to mention that my roan horse 



2l6 

was killed under me within a few yards of the enemy's 
front — and my left foot a little bruised by one of their 
cannon shot — but not so much as to prevent me from 
walking — my poor horse received one musket ball in the 
breast — and one in the flank at the same instant that I 
had a slight touch on my left hand — which is scarcely 
worth mentioning — upon the whole it was a glorious day 
— our men are in the highest spirits — and I am confident 
we shall give them a total defeat the next action; which 
is at no great distance — 

" * My best love and wishes to all friends 

*' ' Adieu my Dear Girl 

" ' Ant'y Wayne — 

" ' N. B. I have heard that you intended to send Rachel 
to market — I would not have it done for one thousand 
guineas.' " 

A GOOD MAN SUFFP:RS FOR HIS RELIGION. 

MANY of the Germans that came to Pennsylvania were 
opposed to war. They could not be true to their 
religion and take up arms. Pennsylvania was a Quaker 
colony, and in that peaceful land non-resisting Germans 
were glad to find a home. 

In religion, they were Quakers, Mennonites, and Breth- 
ren. The Brethren were called Dunkers. They came to 
Germantown first in 17 19. Among them was the famous 
Christopher Saur, the great printer of the colony. His 
son, also named Christopher, was born in Prussia, Septem- 



217 

ber 26, 1 72 1, came to America in 1724, was a bishop of 
his chosen church, and one of the busiest men of his day. 
It is said that he could work at as many as twenty-four 
trades or occupations, and still find time to write, and 
preach, and travel. 

In 1758 his father died, and the son took charge of his 
father's business in Germantown. Here he managed a 
printing establishment, a laboratory, a drug store, a book- 
bindery, a paper mill, and other important businesses, and 
became quite rich. 

When the Revolutionary War broke out, Saur was a 
true American patriot ; but he got into difficulty because 
he would not fight. He was falsely charged with being 
a traitor and a foe to liberty. The real purpose of this 
seems to have been a desire to rob the pious old man of 
his money. 

On the night of May 24, 1778, a party of soldiers of 
Colonel McLean's company surrounded the old man's 
house, took him out of bed, and in his night clothes, bare- 
headed and barefooted, started him on his way to Valley 
Forge. 

It is a great pity that all Washington's soldiers were 
not like their leader. While he prayed in secret to God 
for victory and the right, some of his men were commit- 
ting this great wrong to a pious and pure man. 

Saur was forced through stubble fields, and the tracks 
of his shoeless feet could be traced by his blood. When 
he did not walk fast enough he was prodded in the back 
with bayonets. After a time it became so dark that the 
soldiers decided to stop, and remain in Sebastian Miller's 
barn till morning. Here Saur was shamefully treated. 



2l8 




Washington praying at Valley Forge. 



Part of his beard was cut off, and his face and remaining" 
beard were smeared with paint. 

The next day was very hot, and his bare head and 
bleeding feet caused him great pain. A friend on the 
way, named Keyser, pitied him and gave him a pair of 
shoes, but a rough soldier soon took these from him and 
gave him instead a pair of '' old slabs " that were worse 
than none. 

In this wretched plight he reached Valley Forge, and was 
held under arrest One day Washington passed by. He 
knew Saur very well. Saur had done much printing for 
Washington, and loved the good general sincerely. 

"Why, Mr. Saur! How you do look!" said the com- 
mander in chief. 

"Just as your people made me," was the prompt reply. 



219 

At once the great general, his heart touched by this 
inhuman injury, gave Mr. Saur an honorable release and 
presented him with a suit of decent clothes. 

But his property was all stolen from him. He was, 
when arrested, a rich man, noted for benevolence and 
good deeds. When he returned, he was a pauper. He 
even had to beg his enemies to allow him to retain his 
spectacles. This they finally did. 

He spent the remaining days of his earthly career with 
his devoted daughter near what is now Fairview village, 
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania, and preached almost 
to the day of his death. 

His body rests in the Methacton burying ground, and 
a plain gravestone marks the spot. On this stone one 
may read these words, from Saur's own pen : — 

"Deadi, thou hast conquered me; 
'Twas by thy dart Tm slain ; 
But Christ shall conquer thee, 
And I shall rise again. 

" Time hastens on the hour. 
The just shall rise again ; 
Oh ! Grave, where is thy power ? 
Oh ! Death, where is thy sting?" 



5>»<C 



NARROW ESCAPE OF LIEUTENANT TILLY. 

JUST before Washington went into winter quarters at 
Valley Forge, the army was encamped at White- 
marsh. Many of the officers were quartered at the 
surrounding farmhouses. The old Foulke mansion at 



220 

Penllyn resounded with the merriment of General Small- 
wood's staff and a bevy of Quaker maidens whose viva- 
city was a continual surprise to these Southern "gallants." 

Sally Wistar, a bright young girl from Philadelphia, 
who was making the Foulke mansion her home during 
Howe's occupation of Philadelphia, describes General 
Smallwood as "tall, portly, well made; a truly martial air, 
the behavior and manners of a gentleman, a good undei- 
standing, and great humanity of disposition." 

One evening Sally and her young friend Liddy Foulke 
went into the parlor. " There was Major Stodard holding 
the candle for General Smallwood, who was reading a 
newspaper." In a few minutes the major set the candle 
down, and came to talk with these two Quaker maidens. 
Their talk is written out in Sally's journal, which was kept 
for her friend Debby Norris in Philadelphia. 

" * Pray, ladies,' said the major, * are there any songs in 
that book } ' 

' Yes, many.' 

* Can't you favor me with a sight of it ? ' 

" * No, major ; 'tis a borrowed book.' 

" * Miss Sally, can't you sing "^ ' 

No.' Thee may be sure I told the truth there. 
Liddy, saucy girl, told him I could. He begged, and I 
denied ; for my voice is not much better than the voice of 
a raven. We talked and laughed for an hour. He is 
clever, amiable, and polite. He has the softest voice, 
never pronounces the ' r ' at all." 

The major, she says, had been at Philadelphia College, 
was nineteen years old, and had a fortune of thirty 
thousand pounds. 



221 

** He is large in person, manly, and of an engaging 
countenance and address. . . . He is vastly bashful, so 
much so he can hardly look at the ladies. . . . He is 
the nephew of General Smallwood, and acts as major 
of brigade to him." 

The major was a favorite among the ladies at the man- 
sion. After being absent the larger part of November, 
he returned early in December, weak and worn with ex- 
posure. The kind attentions he received quite revived 
him. Note Sally's journal : — 

" First day, morn December 7th. 

** I tripped into Aunt's. There sat the major, rather 
more like himself. How natural it was to see him ! 

" ' Good morning. Miss Sally.' 

" ' Good morrow, major. How does thee do to-day ? ' 

" ' I feel quite recovered, Sally.' 

" * Well, I fancy this indisposition has saved thy head 
this time, major.' 

" ' No, ma'am, for if I hear a firing, I shall be soon with 
them.' That was heroic. About eleven I dressed myself, 
silk and cotton gown. It is made without an apron. I 
feel quite awkwardish and prefer the girlish dress." 

Among the various officers who were boarding at the 
Foulke mansion was a Mr. Tilly, who was made the butt 
of all their fun and jokes. 

The Wistar journal calls him "a wild noisy mortal, 
above the common size, rather genteel, an extremely pretty 
ruddy face, hair brown, and a sufficiency of it, a very 
great laugher, and talks so excessively fast that he often 
begins a sentence without finishing the last, which con- 



222 



fuses him very much, and then he blushes and lauj^hs. 
He is also a musician, — that is, he plays on the German 
flute, and has it here." 

Poor Tilly became more and more the object of jest and 
ridicule. 

''I am vexed at Tilly," says Miss Sally; "he has his 
flute, and does nothing but play the fool. He begins a 
tune, plays a note or so, then stops. Well, after a while 
he begins again, stops again. 

" ' Will that do, Seaton ? Hah ! Hah ! Hah ! ' 

** He has given us but two regular tunes since he arrived. 
I am passionately fond of music. How boyish he be- 
haves! " 

It was not long before the young major and the lively 
Quaker maid plotted to scare Tilly. 

" I was darning an apron," says Sally, " upon which the 
r- ^ — 1 major was pleased to compliment 

^ ^^^- " ' Well, Miss Sally, what would 

you do if the British were to come 
here ? ' 

" ' Do ! ' exclaimed I, * be fright- 
ened just to death.' He laughed, 
and said he would escape their rage 
by getting behind the large picture 
of a British grenadier that we had 
upstairs. 

" ' Of all things,' he said, ' I 
should like to frighten Tilly with it. 
Pray, ladies, let's fix it in his cham- 




Libii oreiiauier 



bcr to-night' 



223 

"'If thee will take all the blame, we will assist thee.' 
* That I will,' he replied. And this was the plan. We 
had bought, some weeks ago, a British grenadier from 
Uncle Miles, on purpose to divert us. It is remarkably 
well executed, six feet high, and makes a martial appear- 
ance. This we agreed to stand at the door that opens 
into the road (the house has four rooms on a floor, with a 
wide entry running through) with another figure, that 
would add to the deceit. One of our servants was to 
stand behind them, others were to serve as occasion 
offered. . . . 

**In the beginning of the evening I went to Liddy and 
begged her to secure the swords and pistols which were in 
their parlor, and she went in and brought her apron full 
of swords and pistols. 

** When this was done, Stodard joined the officers. 
We girls went and stood at the first landing of the stairs. 
The gentlemen were seated in the parlor, merrily chatting 
on public affairs, when Seaton's negro opened the door, 
candle in hand, and said : ' There's somebody at the door 
that wishes to see you.' 

" ' Who, all of us ? ' said Tilly. 

*"Yes, sir,' said the boy. They all rose (the major, as 
he said afterwards, almost dying with laughter), and 
walked into the entry, Tilly first, in full expectation of 
news. The first object that struck view was a British 
soldier. In a moment his ears were saluted. * Are there 
any rebel officers here ?' in a thundering voice. Not wait- 
ing for a second word, he darted like lightning out of the 
front door, through the yard, and bolted over the fence. 
Swamps, fences, thorn hedges, and ploughed fields noway 



224 

impeded his retreat. He was soon out of hearing. Thie 
woods echoed with 

*'* Which way did he go.?' 'Stop him!' 'Surround 
the house ! ' " Lipscomb also ** had his hand on the latch, 
intending to make his escape," when the major told him 
of the joke. 

" ' Go, call Tilly back,' I said to the major. ' He will 
lose himself, indeed he will.' 

'* Figure to thyself this Tilly, of a snowy evening, no 
hat, shoes down at the heel, hair untied, flying across 
meadows, creeks, and mudholes. Flying from what ? 
Why, a bit of painted wood. But he was ignorant of 
what it was. The idea of being made a prisoner wholly 
engrossed his mind, and his last resource was to run." 



>X^c 



UNCLE JOHN'S LETTER TO HIS GRANDSON. 

UNCLES JOHN had been a soldier in the Revolution- 
ary War, and some years after the surrender at York- 
town he removed to Ohio in company with several other 
veterans. While living there on land given him by the 
government he wrote the following letter to his grandson 
in Philadelphia : — 

Mv DEAR Grandson : 

For some months I have been intending to answer 
your questions about the Revolutionary War in Pennsyl- 
vania. Why, child, if I once got started, there would be 
no ending. 



225 

I was taken prisoner at the battle of Brandywine and 
remained in the British camp until we reached Phila- 
delphia. 

A few days after the battle I remember hearing the 
English officers laughing about the old man who kept 
the inn at Dilworthtown. It appears that some of the 
younger officers were loafing one day about the tavern. 
During their conversation some one declared that Dil- 
worthtown ale was as raw and tasteless as the people. 
Everybody was so ignorant and boorish. " It's a fine 
country," said Aston, "but these people have no educa- 
tion, no culture." 

Upon this the innkeeper, after having glanced out of 
the window, suddenly grew angry, and, bringing his heavy 
fist down on the bar with a bang, said, " I'll wager ten 
pounds that the first farmer who drives past this house 
can speak more languages than the whole kit and crew of 
you put together." 

The officers thought that the old innkeeper had been 
drinking too much, and here was a fine chance for a little 
fun. *' A bet ! A bet ! " they shouted, and three of them 
were forced to join purses to make up the ten pounds. 

In a surprisingly short time a plain, middle-aged Quaker 
drove up to the horse trough. The officers went down 
and spoke to him in French, and received a civil answer 
equally well spoken. Then Furgesson rubbed up his bad 
Spanish and asked the Quaker if he was a Frenchman. 
The farmer answered in very good Spanish that he was 
born in Chester County and had never been in France. 

The officers then held a council in order to rub up a 
Latin quotation. When the Quaker realized that he was 



226 

on trial, he gave the young Englishmen a perfect shower 
of Greek as he climbed upon his saddle horse and drove 
away. Not one of the officers could speak a word of 
Greek, so the innkeeper won his wager. 

Another incident I well remember occurred during the 
winter we were encamped at Valley Forge. I had re- 
cent! \- I s Allied from the British, and everv other week I 




Washington's Headquarters at Valley Forge. 

was on dutv as guard at Washington's headquarters. I 
had the night watch and was posted sentinel at the front 
door of the stone house. 

One bitter cold morning following the sharpest night I 
evjr knew, I was standing on the doorstep, slapping my 
hands to keep them from freezing. It was growing late 
in the morning, and thj guard to relieve me had not 
arrived. Just then the door opened and out stepped his 



22/ 

Excellency, General Washington. I had never been so 
near him before. I stepped back and raised my hat, 
when he asked me if the guard had changed. 

" No, your Excellency," I said ; " they are late this 
morning." 

"You must be cold, my poor man," he said. "Here, 
give me your musket. I will relieve you. Now go in and 
tell Mrs. Washington to give you a good hot breakfast." 

I needed no second invitation. Such an appetite as I 
had that morning, sitting in his Excellency's headquarters, 
eating a steaming breakfast, while that great man stood 
outside guarding his own house ! He was a great man. 
During all that dreary winter he never failed to visit the 
sick who were in the inns and churches in the vicinity. 
Indeed, he rode around among them so regularly that 
some Tories up on the ridge determined to betray him. 
Word was sent to the British, and a band of horsemen 
was there expecting to bag their fox. But Washington 
did not go out that day. Some said it was good luck, but 
I always thought the Lord had a hand in it. 

Ah, my boy, we have no more men like the great and 
good General Washington. 

Your devoted Grandfather. 

ONE OF THE DOAN BOYS. 

DURING the Revolutionary War there were five or 
six brothers named Doan in Bucks County. Their 
deeds of daring made them famous. They were not 
always law-abiding and good, but they were true friends 



228 

of American liberty, and this story proves the bravery 
and goodness of one of them. 

While the British were in Philadelphia it was impos- 
sible for the poor families of the city to get enough to eat. 
One poor woman in the city, with six small children, 
had no food in the house. Her husband was in the 
patriot army at Valley Forge, and her children were 
crying for bread. 

The nearest place at which to get flour was Bristol. No 
one was allowed to pass the line of British guards on Vine 
Street without a pass from Lord Howe. This the woman 
tried to get, and was refused. She was desperate. She 
slipped by the guards and reached Bristol, bought twenty 
pounds of flour, put it in a pillow case, and hurried home- 
ward to her hungry babies. 

As she entered the woods near Frankford, a tall, stout 
man stepped from behind a tree and placed a letter in 
her hand. It was from her husband. How gladly she 
opened and read it ! Then the tall man said, '' Your hus- 
band is well, madam, and requested me to say that in a 
short time he will be with you ; money is a scarce article 
among us, but on account of your husband's devotion to 
the cause of liberty, I am willing to become his banker." 
Then he gave her a piece of money and said, "Hark! 
take the road to the left — farewell." 

She turned to thank him, but the place where he had 
stood was vacant. As she drew near to Vine Street, the 
awful word "Halt!" struck her to the soul. "Your 
pass, woman." 

"I have none, sir; my children are — " 

" Curse the rebel crew ! why do you breed enemies to 



229 

your king? This flour is mine — off, woman, and die with 
your babes ! " 

A groan was her only answer. Then the tall, stout 
stranger boldly stepped forward and said, " Please give 
the woman her flour." 

" Fool ! Idiot ! Who are you ? See yonder guardhouse ; 
if you interfere here, that shall be your quarters." 

"Maybe so, sir; but won't you give the poor woman 
the means of supporting her starving ones a week longer.'' 
Remember how far she has walked, the weight of the bag, 
and think — " 

" Begone, you scoundrel, or I'll seize you as a spy ! " 

*' You won't give this poor woman her flour ? " 

''No." 

" Then by my country's faith, and hopes of freedom, 
you shall ! " And with a powerful arm he seized the 
guard by the throat and hurled him to the ground. 

" Run, madam, run; see, the guardhouse is alive; secure 
your flour, pass Vine Street, and you are safe." 'Twas done. 
The guard tried to rise; the stranger drew a pistol and shot 
him dead. " Shoot him down ! Shoot him down ! " rang from 
guard to guard all along the line. The stranger sprang 
upon his horse, concealed near by. There was only one 
hope of escape. He rushed for the Delaware River. 

Here fifty angry soldiers surrounded him. One sprang 
from behind a tree and exclaimed, " 'Tis useless to lie; you 
are now our prisoner. Surrender." 

"Son of a slave! Slave of a king! How dare you to 
address a free man ! Surrender yourself — a Doan never 
surrendered to any man, far less to a blinded poltroon. 
Away or die! " 

\V. AND B. — 15 



230 

The guard leveled his gun, but was himself leveled to 
the dust. The ball of Doan's pistol was swifter than his 
own. Doan's case was now desperate. He put the spurs 
to his trusty horse and plunged into the Delaware. A 
shower of bullets fell about him. He looked around. 
Twenty armed boats were in full pursuit. It was a strug- 
gle for life. The horse won. Doan reached the Jersey 
shore, took his pistol, and, with steady aim, fired at the 
first boat. A soldier fell headlong into the water. The 
rider then disappeared into the woods. 

One of the Doan boys had a new story to tell that night 
around the camp fire in the thick wilderness ; and in her 
home a grateful mother prayed for an unknown friend 
and read again a loving letter, while her six happy chil- 
dren had a feast. 

AFTER THE WYOMING MASSACRE. 



VELL, veil, n 
poor beoplej 



now. Dot is bad. Wery bad. All de 
les in Wyoming is kill't, or runnin' away. 
Sit right down, me poy, and dell me all aboud it." And 
kind Mr. Linderman, who was sitting under a big tree by 
his door, motioned to a chair. The boy, breathless and 
weak, dropped down on the ground. 

" I've been a-running ever since last night, and not a 
mouthful to eat." 

" Veil, veil, now. Dot is bad. Ve cooks you up some- 
dings right away soon. Dell me now vere is all de brave 
Yankee poys .? Were you in de fight ? And come all de 
vays here mitoud nodings to eat ? " 



231 

"Yes indeed, I was in the fight," exclaimed Roger 
Searles. " It commenced yesterday at four o'clock. We 
had about two hundred and seventy regular soldiers and 
seventy old men and boys." 

" Den you vas not surprised and all massacred, as dey 
told me dis mornin' ? " asked Linderman, with much 
eagerness. 

*'No," answered Searles, '* we knew that they were 
a-coming, but the Tories and Indians were too much for 
us. We were surrounded on all sides save the river. 
I heard Westover ask George Cooper if it wasn't time to 
run. * Hold on,' said Cooper, ' I'll have one more shot 
first.' Then Asahel Buck and I commenced to run. It 
wasn't long before a Tory, who knew Buck, shouted to him, 
' Stop, we won't hurt you.' Poor Buck stopped and turned 
around. In a minute a tomahawk was buried in his head. 
I leaped into a clump of briers, and have been running 
ever since. The whole valley is running away. They're 
starving in the woods. I saw Mr. Cooper lying on his face 
trying to lap up a little meal which was spilt in the path. 
Mrs. Fish is a-coming behind me. Her baby died last 
night. I found her sitting on a stone, holding the baby in 
her arms. * Is it hungry.?' said I. 'No,' said she, *it is 
a-dying. I can't leave the poor thing here for the wolves 
to devour or the Indians to scalp, and I have no way to 
bury it.' So Mrs. Fish picked up the dead baby and ran 
along behind me. She's carried it twenty miles. There 
she comes over the hill, now." 

"Mein Gott ! Mein Gott ! " said Mr. Linderman, "It 
makes me mostd sick to hear of such dings. Ve are all 
wery poor, but if ve have anydings to eat, you shall have 



232 

it. And de baby. I'll make a box for it, and we'll bury it 
in de orchard mit our own beoples." 

That afternoon a solemn little funeral procession turned 
into Mr. Linderman's orchard. The lengthening shadows 
from the dark pine forest fell across their path. 

The grief of poor Mrs. Fish was equaled only by her 
gratitude to the kind-hearted Germans. 

Indeed, the Germans received with open arms the hun- 
dreds of unfortunate people who fled from Wyoming, 
and gave them freely from their scanty stores. Mr. Hol- 
lenback loaded his horse with bread, and, like a minister- 
ing angel, started to meet the terrified and starving people. 
He found a woman sitting upon a log, with six children 
crying around her. She had just heard of the death 
of her husband. Hollenback's bread, they declared, was 
the gift of God in the wilderness. He gave them each a 
small piece and hurried on to relieve others. 

On one day the Tories and Indians wreaked vengeance 
in blood and sorrow on the men and women of Wyoming; 
the next day the Germans of Northampton County extended 
to these broken-hearted people mercy and kindness from 
the depths of their hospitable hearts. Exaggerated re- 
ports of the Wyoming massacre swept through Europe 
until England's cause in the colonies was weakened. 
The blood of Wyoming was a turning point in the Revo- 
lutionary W^ar. And at the same time the open-handed 
hospitality of the Germans served as a tie between the 
Connecticut people on the Wyoming and the men of Penn- 
sylvania. 



LATER INCIDENTS. 



REV. MANASSEH CUTLER IN PHILADELPHIA. 

REV. MANASSEH CUTLER came from Boston in 
1787. He was trying to buy from the Continental 
Congress a large tract of land in Ohio. While waiting in 
New York for the commit- 
tee of Congress to decide 
on what terms he might 
have the land, Mr. Cutler 
decided to visit Philadel- 
phia. He crossed the Del- 
aware at Trenton, and was 
very much interested in 
the famous forge and the 
slitting and rolling mill 
of Robert Morris located 
there. He also speaks of a 
number of mills for grind- 
ing and bolting flour. He 
called Mr. Morris the great 
American financier. After leaving the ferry, the road, 
which was straight and level and free from sand and 
ston-s, led through a deep forest for five miles. The large 

233 




.^yS^^^^m^ 



234 

oak, hickory, walnut, and maple trees greatly interested 
this wide-awake Yankee. He saw here for the first time 
in his life a persimmon tree. The ripe fruit, he says, was 
sweet and agreeable to the taste. He found that the peo- 
ple of Bucks County distilled it into a drink which he 
thought tasted like West India rum. 

The traveler was impressed with the tall tulip trees 
(poplar), and wondered what they must look like when 
in the full glory of their bloom. He looked with pleasure 
upon the rich fertile farms and orchards. 

** In some places," says Mr. Cutler, ** I saw fields of 
corn, the rows of which I judged to be a mile in length. 
The people do not hoe their corn at all, but plow [shovel 
plow] it both ways. The farmer's houses are very neat, 
but not large, generally two stories high, and sometimes 
three, universally painted. Some of them are built of 
logs, and these are also painted [doubtless he means white- 
washed] and very handsome. Their gardens are well 
formed and abound with flowers, as well as fruit trees and 
esculents. I saw but few laborers in their fields, for the 
wheat harvest was generally over. The numerous shocks 
of grain in the fields demonstrated the richness of the soil. 
The face of the country is level and the roads fine. At 
almost every house the farmers and their wives are sitting 
in their cool entries, or under the piazzas and shady trees 
about their doors. I observed the men generally wore 
fine Holland shirts, with the sleeves plaited, the women in 
clean, cool, white dresses, enjoying the ease and pleasures 
of domestic life, with few cares, less labor, and abounding 
in plenty." 

That evening, at half past six, Mr. Cutler arrived in 



235 

Philadelphia and went to the *' Indian Queen " tavern, 
which stood on Third Street, between Market and Chest- 
nut streets. Its location, Mr. Cutler says, was not far 
from the center of the city. An active young colored man 
was selected by the host to look after Mr. Cutler's wants. 
He was neatly dressed in a blue coat " with sleeves and 
cape red," a buff waistcoat and breeches. The bosom of 
his shirt was ruffled, and his hair was powdered. He car- 
ried Mr. Cutler's baggage up to No. 9; then ran down 
and brought two of the latest London magazines and 
placed them upon the table. No. 9 was in the third story 
and opened toward the east, presenting to Mr. Cutler a 
beautiful view across the Delaware and along the Jersey 
shore. The room contained ''a rich field bed, bureau, 
table, and drawers, a large looking glass, neat chairs, and 
other furniture." 

This knowing Yankee at once ordered his servant to 
call a barber, and bring him a bowl of water for washing, 
and to have tea on the table as soon as he was dressed. 
Yet so much time was taken, says Mr. Cutler, in " shift- 
ing my clothes, and getting from under the hands of the 
barber, and taking tea " that it was too late to take a walk 
that night. So this tireless tourist spent the evening 
talking with the other noted gentlemen who were then 
lodging at the " Indian Queen." They were members of 
the convention which was at that time sitting at the State- 
house for the purpose of forming the great federal Con- 
stitution. 

That evening he met Elbridge Gerry and Mr. Gorham 
from Massachusetts, Mr. Madison and Mr. Mason from Vir- 
ginia, Governor Martin and Hon. Hugh Williamson from 



236 

North Carolina, John Rutledge and Mr. Pickering from 
South CaroUna, and Alexander Hamilton from Nev/ York. 
These gentlemen had a parlor to themselves, where Mr. 
Cutler was invited. They sat and talked that night until 
half past one. 

" Philadelphia," says Mr. Cutler, in his journal, "is the 
capital city in America. It is large, elegant, and populous, 
situated on the Delaware river, about i 50 miles from the 
sea, with a good harbor, in which there is a great number 
of large ships, besides numerous smaller vessels of every 
description. It contains 10,000 houses and covers twice 
the quantity of ground to that of Boston. The State House, 
Hospital, and most of the other public buildings are mag- 
nificent, but it is singular that there are only two steeples 
in the city, where there are upwards of twenty houses for 
public worship. . . . The streets of this City are at right 
angles, the buildings on a straight line." 

This was something quite new to Mr. Cutler. 

*' The streets," he says, " are well paved, and at a dis- 
tance of ten feet from the houses is a row of posts, and in 
this range of posts are all their pumps. . . . The pave- 
ments between the posts and houses arc laid with free 
stone or large tile, and entirely smooth, which makes the 
walking on them delightful. They are kept clean, being 
washed every day, and here all the foot passengers pass. 
While I was walking with Mr. Strong, I happened to step 
without the posts, and walked in the street. He desired 
me to come within the posts, for he said they would cer- 
tainly call me a New England man, if I walked there. 
The streets parallel with the Delaware, are Water Street, 
next the river, then Fore Street, First Street, Second 



237 

Street, and so on to Ninth Street, which is the furthest 
yet built upon." Mr. Cutler's visit to Philadelphia was 
very short, but he saw and visited nearly every place and 
person of note in the city. During this visit a committee 
of the Continental Congress prepared the celebrated Ordi- 
nance of 1787, for the government of the " Old North- 
west." When Mr. Cutler returned to New York, he was 
satisfied with the ordinance, and purchased a tract of land 
in Ohio. 

FRANKLIN ENTERTAINS MR. CUTLER. 



M- 



ANASSEH CUTLER first met Dr. Franklin on 
Friday, July 13th, 1787. In Cutler's remarkable 
journal he tells us that Dr. Franklin lived in Market 
Street, between Second 
and Third streets. His 
house stood up a court- 
yard at some distance 
from the street. 

" We found him in his 
garden, sitting upon a 
grass plat under a very 
large mulberry tree, with 
several other gentlemen 
and two or three ladies. 
There was no curiosity in Philadelphia which I felt so 
anxious to see as this great man, who has been the wonder 
of Europe as well as the glory of America. 

'' But a man who stood first in the literary world, and 




238 

had spent so many years in the courts of kings, particu- 
larly in the refined court of France, I conceived would not 
be of very easy access, and must certainly have much of 
the air of grandeur and majesty about him. Common 
folks must expect only to gaze at him at a distance, and 
answer such questions as he might please to ask. In 
short, when I entered his house, I felt as if I was going to 
be introduced to the presence of an European monarch. 
But how were my ideas changed, when I saw^ a short, fat, 
trunched old man, in a plain Quaker dress, bald pate, and 
short white locks, sitting without his hat under the tree ; 
and as Mr. Gerry introduced me, [Franklin] rose from his 
chair, took me by the hand, expressed his joy to see me, 
welcomed me to the city, and begged me to seat myself 
close to him. 

*' His voice was low, but his countenance open, frank and 
pleasing. He instantly reminded me of old Captain Cum- 
mings, for he is nearly of his pitch, and no more the air of 
superiority about him. I delivered to him my letters. After 
he had read them, he took me again by the hand, and with 
the usual compliments, introduced me to the other gentle- 
men of the company, who were most of them members of 
the Convention. Here we entered into a free conversa- 
tion, and spent our time most agreeably until it was dark. 
The tea table was spread under the tree, and Mrs. Bache, 
a very gross and rather homely lady, w^ho is the only 
daughter of the Doctor and lives with him, served it out 
to the company. She had three of her children about her, 
over whom she seems to have no kind of command, but 
who appear to be excessively fond of their Grandpapa." 
The doctor then showed Mr. Cutler a curious specimen 



239 

of a double-headed snake. Traveling, he said, was a 
serious undertaking for the poor thing, when the heads 
chose different sides of a bush and neither one would 
consent to go back or give way to the other. 

This, he said, reminded him of an incident "which 
occurred that day in the Convention, in consequence of 
his comparing the snake to America." 

But the doctor's friends hastened to remind him that 
all Convention matters were secret, so Mr. Cutler failed 
to hear the story. 

'* After it was dark we went into the house and the 
Doctor invited me into his library, which is likewise his 
study. It is a very large chamber and high studded. 
The walls are covered with bookshelves filled with 
books ; besides there are four large alcoves, extending 
two thirds of the length of the chamber, filled in the 
same manner. I presume this is the largest, and by far 
the best private library in America. . . . He showed . . . 
us his long artificial arm and hand, for taking down and 
putting books up on high shelves, which are out of reach ; 
and his great armed chair with rockers, and a large fan 
placed over it, with which he fans himself, keeps off the 
flies, etc., with only a small motion of the foot, while he 
sits reading ; and many other curiosities and inventions, 
all his own, but of lesser note. 

** Over his manteltree he has a prodigious number of 
medals, busts, and casts in wax or plaster of Paris, 
which are the effigies of the most noted characters in 
Europe. ... I was highly delighted with the extensive 
knowledge he appeared to have of every subject, the 
brightness of his memory, and the clearness and vivacity 



240 

of all his mental faculties. Notwithstanding his age 
(eighty-four), his manners are perfectly easy, and every-, 
thing about him seems to diffuse an unrestrained freedom 
and happiness. He has an incessant vein of humor, 
accompanied with an uncommon vivacity, which seems 
as natural and involuntary as his breathing. He urged 
me to call on him again, but my short stay would not 
admit. We took leave at ten and I returned to my 
lodgings." 

GRAYS FERRY INN. 

**/^^H, mother ! are we really going .'' To-morrow } Will 
V^ Uncle John go too .-^ Will we drive two horses .-^ 
Will we stay to dinner.''" And little Debby Wilson 
danced around her mother in a perfect ecstasy of delight. 

'* Yes, my dear," said her mother, "we are going to take 
breakfast at Grays Ferry Inn to-morrow morning. Your 
Uncle John has just returned from England, and he wants 
to see the changes at the Ferr^f " 

The next morning, when they drove up to the floating 
bridge which crossed the Schuylkill at that place, Djbby 
cried out, "Oh, mother, this thing shakes; I'm afraid it 
will break in the middle, and we'll be pitched into the 
river." 

" Be quiet, child," said the mother. " It can't sink. 
Four-horse wagons cross here." 

" Is that the place, mamma } " shouted Debby. " Will 
we eat breakfast here .^ Oh, I'm so hungry," and little 
Debby sprang out of the carriage, and ran up a flight of 



I 



241 

steps cut out of the solid rock at the east end of the 
house. 

" Isn't that a funny house, mamma ? It is three stories 
high on the street, and up here it is only two rooms high. 
Are we going to eat breakfast in this great big piazza? 
Oh, see the river, mamma ! See it winding away off 
into the sunrise land. The mists can't keep the sun from 
getting up, can they, mamma ? 




Grays Ferry Bridge. 

'* Look back this other way, mamma. See the beautiful 
green grass up here, and those winding paths. Oh ! I 
want to run around them. Where do they go .-^ " 

" Oh, Debby, do be quiet for a minute, and eat your 
breakfast," said her mother. " Look down the road 
yonder, Debby. See that big man riding a white horse. 
That's the great General Washington." 

'* Well, well, well," said Uncle John. *' I've been in 
Europe for twenty years and never saw the like of that 
in all my life." 



242 

" The like of what ? " asked Mrs. Wilson. 

** Why, in Europe," said Uncle John, "a great man like 
your General Washington would never be seen out riding 
without fifty or a hundred armed soldiers all around him. 
Look at him now, riding alone, with only a servant in the 
rear. And he is president of the convention which, no 
doubt, is making [1787] a government for what in a 
hundred years will be one of the greatest countries in the 
world." 

" Oh, mamma ! " cried Debby, " mayn't I run down this 
green stone path to that beautiful summxrhouse ? " 

'* When was this place improved so .'* " asked Uncle John. 

''Just recently," said Mrs. Wilson. "Mr. Samuel 
Vaughan, Sr., urged the owner as soon as he bought it to 
fix it up. Mr. Vaughan has planned it all and sent to 
England for a gardener, who is now here at work every 
day with ten men. Come, let us follow Debby ; I want 
to show you the orange trees, and the large greenhouses 
where they put them in the winter time. They also have 
lemons and pineapples in fruit and blossom at the same 
time. 

" Come here, Debby. Look down in that little valley, 
my child ; see the delightful shade hiding that little 
rippling brook." 

" It's playing hide-and-seek with the rocks, isn't it, 
mamma ? Then it will run away and hide in the big 
river. Oh, see the bridges, mamma, one beyond the 
other, they look so funny ! " 

"That's Chinese style, daughter. See how the open- 
work in the rails on the sides is variously painted. See 
how the wild flowers are growing so artlessly on each 



243 

side of this winding path. Here is an old stone building 
that looks like a hermitage. Uncle John and I will 
sit down and rest, Debby, while you may run around 
and plav, and see what you can. Be sure to come back, 
and not get lost." 

Debby needed no second invitation. She saw beds of 
flowers and groves of blooming shrubs. She found a 
great rock near the river all surrounded with spruce and 
cedar trees. On top of this rock she found a summer- 
house, from which she could catch glimpses of the river 
between the leaves. She found a grove of walnuts, 
oaks, and pines. Along the side of the hill were huckle- 
berry and blueberry bushes, and further down, rasp- 
berries and blackberries. In the clear space on top 
of this hill were manv long tables and benches. Debby 
wondered how many hundred people could eat here at 
one time. Then she climbed up on a very long table, 
from which she could see the Schuylkill River for miles. 
After a long, happy morning, little Debby wandered 
back to the hermitage, where she lay in her mother's 
lap, listening to Uncle John telling about how the little 
children in England lived and played. 



>>*<<= 



TOM THE TINKER. 

THE government under the Constitution was scarcely 
begun when its power was put to the test in a pecul- 
iar way. The United States excise law of March, 1791, 
placed a tax of seven cents on every gallon of whisky 



244 



distilled in the country. This was part of Alexander 
Hamilton's plan to pay the debt of the new nation. 
Nobody ought to have objected to the tax ; but almo.'it 
70,000 people in the western counties of Pennsylvania 
were especially affected by it, and many of them did 
object. This greatly disturbed President Washington. 
He saw that the refusal to pay the tax meant open 
defiance of the laws of the land. The strength of the 

Constitution was to be 
tested, and Washington 
decided promptly that 
this tax should be col- 
lected, even at the cost 
of bloodshed. 

Why should the sturdy 
Scotch-Irish of Alle- 
gheny, Fayette, West- 
moreland, Washington, 
and Bedford counties 
defy the law ? These 
same people had fol- 
lowed Washington in 
many a hard march and had, through the whole Revolu- 
tionary struggle, proved themselves true patriots. They 
lived west of the Alleghany Mountains. No good roads 
had yet been opened to the east, and the Indians and 
Spanish had closed the great waterway formed by the 
Ohio and Mississippi rivers. The people of Western 
Pennsylvania had no market for their grain ; but whisky 
found a ready sale. A horse could carry two kegs, con- 
taining eight gallons each, across the mountains. It was 




Alexander Hamilton. 



245 

worth one dollar a gallon in the east. Returning, the 
farmer's horse could carry iron, costing sixteen or twenty 
cents a pound ; and salt, costing five dollars a bushel. 

To make whisky became a common thing, and a still 
was a part of the property of every farmer. Whisky was 
the money of the people. A tax on it was a loss to these 
farmers. Then, too, the objection to the tax became more 
serious when it was known that those refusing to pay the 
tax were to be arrested, and tried in a federal court at 
Philadelphia, three hundred and fifty miles away. Had 
the state court been allowed to try these cases, as it was 
later on, perhaps the Whisky Insurrection would never 
have occurred. 

Opposition to the payment of the tax began to show 
itself in riots. At Carlisle a crowd of Bedford County 
''whisky boys" burned in effigy the Chief Justice, and set 
up a liberty pole on which were the words, " LIBERTY 
AND NO EXCISE, O WHISKY!" President Wash- 
ington called for troops to enforce the law. This angered 
the "whisky boys." Tom the Tinker (John Holcroft) 
inflamed the lawless spirit of the people by writing sharp 
and defiant articles against the law and the army. These 
were printed as handbills, and " half the trees in Western 
Pennsylvania," says Dr. McMaster, "were whitened with 
Tom the Tinker's notices." The officers that were sent to 
collect the tax were roughly treated, the farmers who paid 
the tax were visited by masked men and beaten, and a 
man who rented his house to a collector was visited at 
midnight by a crowd of blackened and disguised men, 
seized, carried to the woods, shorn of his hair, tarred, 
feathered, and tied to a tree. 

W. AND B. — l6 



246 



Twelve thousand nine hundred and fifty soldiers were 
soon marching across the mountains. Daniel Morgan, who 
charged the rocky defenses of Quebec and won the battle of 
the Cowpens, led the brave Virginians. Governor Howell, 
of New Jersey, marched at the head of the Jersey Blues. A 
loyal Congressman from Baltimore, John Eager Howard, 

commanded the sons of 
Maryland, and Governor 
Mifflin was the chief 
of the Keystone boys. 
Governor Henry Lee, 
of Virginia, was com- 
mander in chief. The 
President and Secretary 
Hamilton also went with 
the army to Carlisle and 
Bedford. Many heroes 
of the Revolutionary 
War marched side by 
side with young men 
who had been scared 
from their boyhood 
games by the boom of British cannon and the rattle of 
Hessian musketry. On the trees of the mountain were 
posted such notices from Tom the Tinker as the follow- 
ing : — 

*' Brother, you must not think to frighten us with fine 
arranged bits of infantry, cavalry and artillery, composed 
of your watermelon armies, taken from the Jersey shores. 
They would cut a much better figure in warring with 
crabs and oysters about the banks of the Delaware. It 




Farewell previous to the Western 
Expedition. 



247 

is a common thing for Indians to fight your best armies in 
the proportion of one to five ; therefore, we would not 
hesitate to attack this army at the rate of one to ten." 
Young soldiers like John Shippen riddled these notices 
with bullets and pushed on to the west. This John 
Shippen was a son of Colonel Joseph Shippen, who 
lived on Plumley Farm, Westtown Township, Chester 
County. His uncle, Edward Shippen, was Chief Justice 
of Pennsylvania, and the father of Miss Peggy, the wife of 
Benedict Arnold. From one of young Shippen's letters 
to his father at Plumley we can learn something of the 
army : — 

"October 31st, 1794. 
*' My dear Father : 

" I am now seated in our tent, while two or three of my 
comrades are finishing their suppers, comprised of choco- 
late, bread and butter, and the remnants of a tough old 
chicken. I have, by way of table, placed on my lap a 
little board that was yesterday morning the cover of a 
provision box which had the ill fortune to be broken to 
pieces by the upsetting of a wagon. And I cannot help 
thanking you, sir, just in this place, for your thoughtful- 
ness and kindness in sending me your little green waxen 
taper, which serves me as a light on this occasion. . . . 

"Things are most amazingly dear. Some have had so 
little conscience as to demand 2s. 4d., and 3s. Qd. for a 
quart of whisky, 6s. and gd. for a dozen of washing, count- 
ing a pair of stockings as two pieces. I saw bread, a 
small, heavy rye loaf, worth 3d., sold for is. lo^d. Our 
marches are excessively slow and tiresome. We have sat 
on our horses six, eight, and ten hours at a time, and in 



248 

the rain. One night we slept on straw at the fire, without 
tents, and I believe not a single soldier was injured by it. 

" It is surprising and laughable that in this country 
everybody tells you they were forced by threats to go to 
such and such a place, and they talk violently against 
Tom Tinker's men (for that is the name of the whisky 
boys now), and when you ask them, where are the persons 
that threatened them, they say, ' Oh ! they are run off.' 

" I am told that a man by the name of Hamilton, in 
Washington County, was informed on. A number of 
troops were set to guard the house, and if he came out 
and attempted to escape, the orders were to shoot him. 
In the mean time, the cunning rogue was busy changing 
his dress for that of a servant in his family. Then he 
walked out carelessly and spoke to the soldiers and offi- 
cers, answered their questions about Hamilton, passed on 
and fled. 

" I think I never saw two more beautiful rivers than the 
Monongahela and the Allegheny." 

When the army had reached Pittsburg and the strong 
power of the government was fully realized, these sturdy 
ScotchTrish submitted to the ]aw% paid the tax, and the 
first effort to defy the power of the United States govern- 
ment was at an end. The army returned. The Whisky 
Insurrection was suppressed. The Constitution was there- 
after more fully honored than before. It was not until 
the days of Jackson that the Constitution again met oppo- 
sition. This Jackson quelled, and later on Lincoln and the 
brave boys in blue defeated a final attempt to overthrow 
the orreat Constitution. 



249 



CHARLES BAPTISTE ARIEL, OR ''OLD 
FRENCH CHARLEY." 

IT was to the county of Lackawanna that French Charley 
came. There game was abundant, and the stir and 
bustle of sawmills, bark mills, and tanneries were not 
yet heard. Charley had been told of Scott, the great 
hunter, who had killed and dressed eleven deer in one 
day, and was said to have shot one hundred and seventy- 
five deer, five bears, three wolves, and numerous wild 
turkeys in one year. "That's the country for me," said 
Charley. " The ax and the buzz mills are spoiling our 
hunting grounds. I'll go to Lackawanna, where old Scott 
lived. There's no game in the Wyoming any more." 

For these reasons old Charley came to the Drinker 
settlement, known as " Drinkers Beech," now called 
Covington, in Lackawanna County. This was the region 
purchased from the state by Henry Drinker in 179 1. It 
contained 25,000 acres of wild, unsettled land on the 
head waters of the Lehigh and De Longs Creek. It 
was located in what are now Wayne, Pike, Monroe, and 
Lackawanna counties. The next year John De Long was 
hired to cut a road into the unknown country. This road 
passed the romantic Lake Henry, and ended in a branch 
of the Lehigh known as Bell Meadow Brook. 

For nearly thirty years nothing more was done, and the 
''Drinker Road" grew wild and narrow, until it served 
only as a path for the panther. When, in the fall of 1821, 
this road was reopened, the name of " Henry Drinker, 
1792," was found, cut in the bark of an old beech tree. 



250 

Here it was, a few years later, that old French Charley 
came. He caught the largest trout which leaped the wild 
cascades that fed the Lehigh. He loved the solitude 
of the great beech forest. Here he could revive the 
scenes of his youth. He could call the owls from their 
shadowy retreats deep in the woods. He could imitate 
the mate call of every game bird in the country. The 
wild turkey came, a willing victim, within the range of his 
unerring rifle. He loved to go far back into the forest 
and build his camp fire and sleep on a pile of fragrant 
hemlock boughs. 

Charley never wearied of telling about his exploits when 
he served as a runner for General Wayne in the Indian 
war in the Northwest, or when he was a boatman on 
Canadian waters, which business he followed for many 
years. 

Charley had not been working for Mr. Drinker very 
long before the men said that there was something strange 
about him. They complained that he disturbed their rest 
in the camp or cabin at night. He would groan and talk 
in his sleep. Sometimes he would leap suddenly out of 
bed, and walk hurriedly to and fro, muttering something 
in an unknown tongue, while his voice was weird and low. 
If any one asked him what was the matter, he always 
replied, "Oh, nothing; I must have been dreaming." 

They never could get him to say more than this. If 
questioned about it in the morning, he would merely reply 
that he was sorry if he had disturbed any one. The men 
complained so much about being aroused from their sleep, 
that Richard Drinker (son and heir of Henry) determined 
to learn the cause of such strange conduct. 



251 

Once, in a private interview, old French Charley made 
the following confession. 

When he was quite a young man his great love for 
hunting and trapping led him to enjoy the Indian wigwam 
more than the homes of the French Canadians. 

He was soon adopted into the tribe of the Mes'-sa-saw- 
gu'-es Indians. And according to the custom of this tribe, 
the chief gave Charley an Indian brother, with the under- 
standing that whichever one died first, his property should 
go to the surviving brother. 

Charles Baptiste Ariel was a better trapper than his 
Indian brother. He soon had so many rich furs to sell 
that he became the happy owner of a fine new rifle, and 
of a handsome young horse with saddle and bridle. 

The Indian brother grew jealous. He looked with 
longing eyes upon the wealth of the Frenchman. No- 
body knew his secret thoughts while he sat by the camp 
fire. He treated Charley well. One day he proposed that 
they take a long journey into the Wabash country to hunt 
for wild turkeys. Innocent Ariel knew nothing of the dark 
purpose in the Indian's heart, and readily agreed to go. 
The old chief gave his consent with great reluctance. 

Ariel wished to try his new rifle and was eager for the 
journey. The fifth day after starting was spent in hunt- 
ing turkeys. The two men shot a few, and were very 
tired when they built their camp fire. Its blaze lit up the 
dark shadows of the deep untrodden wilderness which 
then bordered the Wabash. 

Here they cooked a turkey and ate a hearty supper. 
Then like two Indians they sat in silence watching the 
flames leaping higher into the darkness as if they were 



252 

trying to catch the sparks which disappeared into the 
overhanging hemlock boughs. 

Ariel soon fell asleep. The Indian glared upon him in 
silence. He thought of the new rifle, the horse, the bridle, 
and the saddle. He drew his long knife, but could not 
make up his mind to strike the white man, whose head 
was leaning against a small stump. He put the knife 
back into its leather case, and sat a long time in silence. 

The fire burned down to a few coals. The Indian arose 
and went toward the river. His tread was as noiseless as 
that of the wild turkey. After going a few rods he 
squatted near the end of an old log. His white brother's 
face was in full view, as the light of the dying embers 
shone upon it. 

The Indian primed his flint, and, filled with the thought 
of the horse and the new rifle, took deliberate aim. The 
flint snapped. A second time the flint snapped. The 
Indian turned to prime it for a third trial. 

Meanwhile Ariel was dreaming. He thought that he 
was hunting wild turkeys. It took him a long time to call 
a fine old gobbler within range. At last he succeeded, and 
the noble bird was within rifle shot. He raised his new 
gun, and for the first time it missed fire. The flint 
snapped. At this the turkey gave his well-known cry of 
alarm, and stretching out his long neck, ran a short dis- 
tance, then stood still, listening, in order to locate the 
danger. 

Charley examined his lock, and found to his surprise 
that there was no flint in it. There was still a chance to 
capture the bird. He cautiously took another flint from 
his bullet pouch and fixed it for a second shot. The 



253 

turkey was standing less than a hundred yards distant. 
He drew a fine and steady sight. A second time his rifle 
snapped, and so loudly this time that he awoke. 

He saw the flickering embers of the dying fire. But 
where was his Indian brother.? From toward thj river 
bank he distinctly heard the well-known click of a rifle. 
His dream was not all a dream. Quick as a flash he real- 
ized his danger. He instantly threw his blanket on the 
stump and silently disappeared behind a log. A moment 
later he peered from his hiding place, and there was his 
Indian brother priming his flint for a third attempt. 

The savage turned and raised his gun, when lo ! there 
was no Charley under the cloak. His keen eye glanced 
in surprise along the shadow-hung logs, when to his hor- 
ror he saw the barrel of Charley's rifle within ten rods of 
him, and Charley's finger on the fatal trigger. 

The Indian fell on his knees and begged for mercy. But 
Charley said, " I believe you snapped three times at me, 
and if I snap as many times at you, you shall go clear." 
In a moment the Indian was dead. Charley now felt 
what an awful thing it is to destroy life. 

He carefully buried the Indian, his gun, and all his be- 
longings. With a heavy heart he hurried home. The 
chief asked him where he left his brother. Charley 
said, ''On the Wabash, hunting turkeys." The old chief 
grunted and said, " Indian was a bad man." 

No questions were ever asked after that. Charley grew 
old and came to Lackawanna, but his heart still carried 
the burden of guilt. To Mr. Drinker he said, " In my 
dreams I always see that poor Indian begging for his 
life." 



254 



THE OLD PIKE. 



"We hear no more of the clanging hoof. 
And the stagecoach, rattling by : 
For the steam king rules the traveled world, 
And the Old Pike's left to die."" 




An Old Stagecoach. 



" It is a monument of a past 
age ; but like all other monu- 
ments it is interesting as well 
as venerable. It carried thou- 
sands of population and mil- 
lions of wealth into the West ; 
and more than any other mate- 
rial structure in the land, served 
to harmonize and strengthen, 
if not to save, the Union "' 

— Hon. James V'eech. 



M 



Y friend, let me take you by the hand and lead you 



telegraph wires fade, the roar of the trolley will cease, and 
the mighty rush of the engine will melt into silence. We 
are back in the good old days of the " Pike boys," and the 
only sound that rolls through the valleys and echoes on 
the hillsides of southwestern Pennsylvania is the chorus of 
confused calls rising into music above the ceaseless sweep 
of life on the great National Road — called the Old Pike. 

This great road, the first highway over the Alleghany 
Mountains, was built by the government, and extended 
from Cumberland, Maryland, to Wheeling on the Ohio. 
Let us call to our side Hon. T. B. Searight, whose charm- 
ing book on TJie Old Pike proves that he is best fitted to 
be our guide. We will stand in the shadows of the great 



255 

trees along this great lane of life, and learn some of its 
history. 

It was first used in 1818, and until the iron horse crossed 
the mountains, in 1854, it was the greatest route of travel in 
America. Look, here they come ! A long line of Cones- 
toga wagons. See their broad wheels, their canvas-covered 
tops, and their great loads of merchandise. Each one is 
drawn by six heavy horses. Hear the crack of the driver's 
long whip. What a line ! Over twenty of them sweep 




Conestoga Wagon. 

around a curve in the road, down by the stone tavern, on 
toward the sunset. As many more are moving east. 

There comes the swaying, rushing passenger coach ; 
yonder comes the mail coach, and here like a flash goes 
the fleet-footed pony express. Now a jockey from Ken- 
tucky passes with a hundred handsome horses and as 
many mischievous mules. 

There floats a cloud of dust in which is a great herd of 
cattle and a flock of sheep. Near by, in a muddy stream, 
rests an army of hogs, and above all this medley of motion 
rolls the music of the moving multitude. 



256 







-_ ,-»jX- /* 



_._*^^,.^/1v^;"" - ^^^- o">x^^,..tf'^yo^/"/' 



The Black Eagle Inn. 



Strangest of all, here comes a long line of men and 
women, tied two by two to a thick rope. What are they 
pulling.? Nothing, my friend; they are human beings, 
negro slaves, tied like dogs and driven by a merciless mas- 
ter from the South to the market block in Kentucky to be 
sold. And this was only sixty years ago, in the free state 
of Pennsylvania. Let us thank God that Abraham Lin- 
coln and the brave boys in blue swept such scenes forever 
from American soil. 

Over this great road, as passengers, went Andrew Jack- 
son, William Henry Harrison, John Q. Adams, General 
Lafayette, Henry Clav, Tom Corwin, James K. Polk, 
Zachary Taylor, General Scott, General Butler, Davy 



257 

Crockett, James G. Blaine, P. T. Barnum, Jenny Lind, 
J, W. Crittenden, and many others whose names call up 
pages of our history. 

Stand back ! There comes Sam Sibley, a famous driver. 
In his coach rides the great Henry Clay. The coach stops 
in Uniontown, and Henry Clay dines at the McClelland 
House ; then whirls away with a rush for Washington. 

Hark! There's a crash, a cloud of dust, a rush of citi- 
zens; the proud driver, for once, was careless. His team 
dashed over a pile of limestone in the street, and the coach 
was upset. The driver creeps from the wreck, with a 
broken nose, and Mr. Clay is lying under the upturned 
coach. A hundred hands hurry to free him. He is un- 
hurt, and as he brushes the dust from his clothes, he says, 
'* This is mixing the Clay of Kentucky with the limestone 
of Pennsylvania." 

Yonder is a narrow place in the road. Old Breakiron's 
team is moving one way, Puffenberger's the other. Each 
demands of the other to turn out. Each refuses. " What's 
your name.''" said Puffenberger, angrily. 

" My name is Breakiron," was the answer. 

"That," said Old Puff, ''is a hard name, but you look 
harder than your name." 

" I am as hard as my name," said Breakiron, " and what 
is your name .-^ " 

" Puffenberger," was the reply. 

**That," said Breakiron, "is a windy name." 

"Yes," said Old Puff, "but there's thunder in it." And 
so the useless war of words went on. 

Here comes Jesse J. Peirsol. He can tell of a night 
on Nigger Mountain at the Sheet's Tavern. Thirty six- 



258 

horse teams were in the wagon yard, one hundred mules 
in a near-by lot, one thousand hogs in another, as many fat 
cattle from Illinois in a field, and the tavern was crowded 
with teamsters and drovers. To hear the grunts of the 
hogs, the braying of the mules, the bellowing of the cattle, 
and the crunching of the corn by the horses, was music 
beyond a dream. 

Notice that fine mail coach. On its gilded sides, as it 
rolls swiftly by, you see the picture of a postboy, with 
Hying horse and horn, and in gilt letters these words : — 

''He conies, the herald of a noisy world, 
News from all nations lumbering at his back." 

In its soft silk plush seats, among others, sits Tom 
Corwin. He was once a wagoner on this pike, and the 
campaign cry that made him Governor of Ohio was, '* Hur- 
rah for Tom .Corwin, the wagoner boy." 

In 1846, the message came from Washington that Presi- 
dent Polk had officially declared war against Mexico. 
Redding Bunting took this message in Cumberland at 
two o'clock in the morning and drove with it over the 
mountains, across the stone bridges, through the valleys, 
by a hundred taverns and a score of villages, and delivered 
it in Wheeling at two o'clock p.m. He drove one hundred 
and thirty-one miles in twelve hours. 

Yonder goes Daniel Leggett, a famous old coacher. He 
drove the coach from Wheeling to Washington in which 
rod^ the famous chief, Black Hawk. In Washington, 
the harness broke, Leggett was thrown from the driver's 
box, and the team dashed madly through the town. At 
a turn in the street the coach upset. The first one to 



259 

creep out of the wreck was Black Hawk. He stood up- 
right in the street, a single drop of blood on his brow, and 
showed his anger and surprise by uttering, '* Ugh ! Ugh ! 
Ugh!" 

And there goes the sprightly team of WilHam Shaffer. 
His long whip cracks like a pistol, and his team makes the 
fire fly at every leap. He carries in his coach the great 
showman, P. T. Barnum, and Jenny Lind, the sweetest 
singer that ever paid the fare, $ 17.25, to ride in a Stock- 
ton Line coach from Wheeling to Baltimore. They stop 
over night at Boss Rush's tavern. A crowd gathers to 
see the noted travelers. As the coach rolled in, a curious 
native asked: "Which is Barnum .^^ " Shaffer said gruffly, 
" I don't know Barnum from the devil." Barnum heard 
this as he stepped out, and said in reply, "The driver is 
right; it is hard to distinguish me from the devil." 

Jenny Lind had fine fresh trout for breakfast, and hur- 
ried on to Cumberland. 

There goes John Buck, a noted driver. He drove La- 
fayette over this old pike to Washington in 1825, and 
always thought some of the mighty cheers that rolled 
along the road with his coach were meant for him as 
much as for the great Frenchman. 

Here rolls along in steady sweep the handsome coach 
of the " Good Intent " line. It belongs to General N. P. 
Talmadge, and he and all his drivers will not touch a 
drop of whisky. Hear his drivers sing: — 

" Our horses are true and coaches fine. 
No upsets or runaways ; 
Nor drunken drivers to swear and curse, 
For it's cold water all the days. 



26o 

Chorus. 

" For our agents and drivers 
Are all fully bent. 

To go for cold water 
On line Good Intent; 

Sing, go it. my hearties. 
Cold water for me."' 




The -Good Intent" Coach (from T'le Old Pike). 



It was a o^reat clay for Uniontown, when, in May, iS.37, 
John Quincy Adams, on his way from Cincinnati, was 
welcomed by all the people. Hon. Hugh Campbell gave 
a fine address, and as we listen to his noble words let 
us return to the lessons of to-day with a strong desire to 
know more, in the years to come, of this great highway 
of America. 



26l 



" We stand here, sir, upon the Cumberland Road, which 
has broken down the great wall of the Appalachian Moun- 
tains. This road, we trust, constitutes an indissoluble 
chain of Union, connecting forever, as one, the East and 
the West." 

FOUNDERS OF THE FREE SCHOOLS. 



AT the heart of all great movements one finds a few 
earnest and enthusiastic spirits. 

Before 1834, Pennsylvania had no organized system of 
elementary education. The state had many school build- 
ings, and the old-time master 
wandered from district to 
district. He had no legal 
license to teach, and usually 
" boarded round." Thousands 
of children were not near 
these schools, and thousands 
more were too poor to pay 
the fee. The great demand 
of the time was for schools, 

public schools, for all the ' Y^^^^ "W\'' P("''^/V^/ 
children. 

To the unselfish and noble 
efforts of three German governors of Pennsylvania, and 
the patriotic zeal of an adopted son of our soil, is due the 
gratitude of all for our grand system of free schools. 

John Andrew Shulze (1775- 185 2), of Berks County, 
was the first governor to take a bold stand for elementary 

\V. AND B. — 17 




John Andrew Shulze. 



262 



education. He was a finely educated man, a Lutheran 
clergyman, and, after serving in both branches of the 
state Legislature, was twice elected governor. He occu- 
pied this important office from 1823 to 1829. 

In his message of 1827 he said, ** Among the injunc- 
tions of the Constitution, there is none more interesting 
than that which enjoins it as a duty in the Legislature 
to provide for the education of the poor throughout the 
Commonwealth. If the culture of the understanding and 
heart be entirely neglected in early life, there is great 
reason to fear that evil propensities will take root, while 
with proper discipline there might be a rich harvest of 
usefulness and worth." 

George Wolf (1777-1840), a native of Northumberland 
County, became governor, in 1829, and served two terms. 

He, too, was a Pennsyl- 
vania German, and a res- 
olute friend of free 
schools. George Wolf 
was a teacher, a scholar, 
and a statesman. He sat 
in state and national halls 
of legislation, and was a 
man of sterling integ- 
rity, sound judgment, and 
strong common sense. He 
was firm enough to be his 
own master, and gentle 
enough to love children devotedly, and to give the best 
years of his life to creating a system of education for the 
youth of this great commonwealth. 




George Wolf. 



263 




He was the champion of the Act of 1834, and gladly 
gave his executive approval to the new law. The school 
children of Easton 
recently erected a 
beautiful memorial 
gate to the memory 
of Governor Wolf, 
the father of our 
public school sys- 
tem. 

The new school 

law was opposed on 

all sides. The people 

were in favor of edu 

,, , ,., The Wolf Memorial Gate. 

cation, but did not like 

what they called the machine-like system the law of 1834 

provided. The Legislature of the next year resolved to 

repeal the school law. In 
the height of this excitement, 
Joseph Ritner (1780-1869), 
another Pennsylvania Ger- 
man, a native of Berks 
County, was elected gov- 
ernor. Joseph Ritner was a 
self-made man. On a farm 
in Washington County he 
worked and read books until 
1820. He was then elected 
Joseph Ritner. ^q ^\^q s^-^te Legislature, and 

served twice as Speaker of the House of Representatives. 

During his campaign a story was published that Ritner 




264 

was in favor of the repeal of the school law. He walked 
many miles and faced the lying editor, made him retract 
in his papec, and declared that he would not under any 
circumstances purchase office by betraying his principles. 

But the greatest defender of our school system in this 
crisis was Thaddeus Stevens. He was the political op- 
ponent of Governor Wolf, but did not allow his politics 
to keep him silent when the children of the common- 
wealth were likely to suffer. Mr. Stevens was born in 
Danville, Vermont, in 1792. His mother's savings sent 
him to Dartmouth College, where he graduated in 18 14. 
The next year he came to Pennsylvania, and early became 
a member of the Legislature. When the act to repeal 
the law of 1834 had passed the Senate and was about to 
pass the House, Mr. Stevens delivered one of the greatest 
speeches that ever rang through the halls of legislation. 
Only a few of the many eloquent sayings of this great 
advocate of universal education can be given here. 

'* The barbarous and disgraceful cry, which we hear 
abroad in some parts of our land, ' that learning makes 
us worse, that education makes men rogues,' should find 
no echo within these halls. . . . Who would not rather 
do one living deed than to have his ashes enshrined in 
ever-burnished gold ? . . . Why shall Pennsylvania now 
repudiate a system which is calculated to elevate her to 
that rank in the intellectual, which, by the blessings of 
Providence, she holds in the natural world ? . . . 

" (31d habits and old prejudices are hard to be removed 
from the mind. Every new improvement which has been 
graduilly leading man from the savage, through the 
civilized, up to the highly cultivated state, has required 



265 

the strenuous, and often perilous exertions of the wise 
and good. . . . 

" I have seen the present chief magistrate of this com- 
monwealth [Wolf] violently assailed as the projector and 
father of this law. I am not the eulogist of that gentle- 
man ; but he deserves the undying gratitude of the people 
for the stern, untiring zeal which he has manifested in 
favor of common schools. I trust that the people of this 
state will never be called upon to choose between a sup- 
porter and an opposer of free schools. But, if it should 
come to that ; if that should be made the turning point 
on which we are to cast our suffrages ; if the opponent 
of education were my most intimate personal and political 
friend, and the free-school candidate my most obnoxious 
enemy, I should deem it my duty as a patriot, in this 
moment of our intellectual crisis, to forget all other con- 
siderations, and place myself unhesitatingly and cordially 
in the ranks of him whose banner streams in light. 

'* Cast your vote that the blessing of education shall be 
conferred on every son of Pennsylvania — shall be carried 
home to the poorest child of the poorest inhabitant of the 
meanest hut of your mountains, so that even he may be 
prepared to act well his part in this land of freemen and 
lay on earth a broad and solid foundation for that enduring 
knowledge which goes on increasing through increasing 
eternity." 

This burst of eloquence and truth saved the school sys- 
tem of Pennsylvania. Again in the same hall, in 1838, 
Mr. Stevens pleaded for aid to education in a masterly 
manner and closed with these memorable words : — 

" I have often thought and wished that I was the owner 



266 



or trustee of the whole mountain of Ophir. I would scat- 
ter its yellow dirt upon the human intellect until, if there 
be any fertilizing property in it, every young idea should 
shoot forth with overshadowing luxuriance." 

Thaddous Stevens revered the memory of his father, 
who fell in the War of 1812, and of his devoted mother. 

In his will he gave $ 1000 
to a l^aptist church in 
Lancaster, " out of re- 
spect to the memory of 
my mother, to whom I 
owe whatever little pros- 
perity I have had on 
earth." He also set aside 
a sum " that the sexton 
keep her grave in order, 
and plant roses and other 
cheerful flowers at the 
four corners of said grave 
every spring." 

In 1864, a lady of Get- 
tysburg gathered some relics of the greatest battlefield of 
the Civil War and had them made into a cane. This she 
sent to Mr. Stevens. In his letter of thanks to her he 
wrote, "When I review all the measures in which I have 
taken part, some of them very important, I see none in 
which I feel so much pleasure as the free-school system of 
Pennsylvania. As the mother of eight children you thank 
me for it. Such thanks while I am living, and if I c )u]d 
hope for the blessings of the poor when I am n(^ morj, are 
a much more grateful reward than silver or gold." 




26/ 

He always defended the poor and oppressed. He was 
a stanch friend of the negro race, and refused tc be buried 
in a cemetery from which negroes were excluded. On his 
grave in Lancaster are these words : — 

" I repose in this quiet and secluded spot, not from any 
natural preference for solitude, but finding other cemeteries 
limited by charter rules as to race, I have chosen it that 
I might be enabled to illustrate in death the principle which 
I have advocated through a long life — equality of man 
before his Creator." 

A SCHOOL IN THE EARLY DAYS. 

IN one of the counties on the northern border, shortly 
after the present school law was adopted, a young lady 
was engaged to teach school. In those days there were 
no normal schools, no institutes, and no county superin- 
tendents. The young lady went before the school board 
for an examination. The best-educated member had gone 
down the river with a raft. The five remaining men asked 
the lady a few simple questions, and then gave her a slip 
of greasy paper containing the following : — 

" This is to Sertify that the Bair er Miss hav- 
ing Ben duly examined as the law directs we find her well 
qualified to teach the folowing Branches reading arith- 
metick and geography & penmanship & a good morrel 
carrecter witness our hands and seals this ist. 
day of joun. . . ." 

The new teacher was to be paid the sum of twelve 
dollars for a term of eleven weeks, with five and a half 



268 

days' teaching each week. School might be kept open 
every other Saturday, or on Saturday mornings, as the 
teacher preferred. The teacher's income was further in- 
creased by the privilege of boarding around among the 
parents of her pupils. 

The schoolhouse was small and low. It was built of 
rough, unpeeled logs, and roofed with pine slabs laid with 
the round side up, and fastened to the rafters with poles 
tied on with withes. The floor was made of unplaned 
planks laid loosely upon the joists. Opposite the door was 
an opening in the wall ; this was the only window in the 
schoolhouse. It had neither glass nor sash. 

The chimney occupied nearly the entire end of the build- 
ing. It was built of stones laid with mortar made of clay 
and straw. During every heavy rain some of this plaster 
would fall and leave its stain upon the floor. 

The only furniture in the room consisted of three 
benches. One had legs ; the other two were merely 
slabs laid on low blocks of wood. 

A smooth board was fastened lengthwise to the log 
under the window and served as a writing desk. A row 
of wooden pegs were driven into the wall, and on these 
the children hung their caps and cloaks. There was noth- 
ing more in the room : no blackboard, no chair, no maps. 
The door swung on wooden hinges and was fastened with 
a long wooden latch. 

The new teacher was happy the moment she saw that 
the door was planed smooth. Here was something that 
could be used for a blackboard. With bits of charcoal 
she wrote the lesson on the door. This greatly amused 
and interested the children. 



269 

A hickory broom was borrowed from one of the neigh 
bors and used to clear the room of the dead leaves which 
had blown in during the winter, and the numerous cobwebs 
which had collected. The teacher and the large scholars 
furnished the wood. During the noon recess they gath- 
ered chips, bark, and dead limbs from the woods. These 
were used for the summer fires, which were kept burning 
nearly all day when it rained, and were started almost 
every morning. 

Only three out of twenty-four pupils had any books 
when school started. The teacher took the newspaper 
which had been wrapped around her Bible, and, after 
smoothing it out carefully, cut it into sixteen equal parts. 
Each piece served a child for a reader and a speller. The 
pupils were remarkably careful of these scraps, and knew 
their lessons well. 

The little ones who did not know their letters were given 
a pin and told to punch a hole over every letter "o" 
they could find. Then another letter was taken, until they 
finally knew the alphabet. When the newspaper wore 
out, a thoughtful friend sent the teacher a bundle of old 
handbills and posters. These became a mine of wealth 
far more valuable than the newspaper. 

Great was the rejoicing when the discovery was made 
one day that the flagstones found in the bottom of the 
brook near by could be used for slates. Each pupil got 
out his own ''flag," or slate, and proudly carried it to the 
schoolroom. These slates being of different sizes, and 
difficult to hold, the teacher allowed the pupils to lean 
them against the bottom log of the wall, and to sit or lie 
on the floor while they wrote and ciphered. The children 



270 

used soft stones found in the same brook for pencils. An 
amused smile often lit up the teacher's face when she 
looked at her little flock all lying or sitting on the floor 
busy at work. 

Thus, in spite of all difficulties, these eager minds were 
learning. The pupils loved to walk with the teacher 
through the shady woods carpeted with moss and flowers. 
They had no books with pictures, but they had God's 
great glorious picture book all around them. They had 
no charts or maps, desks or chairs, but they had a teacher 
who loved them, and their little hearts were happy. 

Even when it rained, and their one little window had to 
be boarded up to keep out the driving storm, the children 
considered it a rare treat, and wished that it would rain 
again, so they might sing songs, recite the multiplication 
table, and listen to stories of the hunters and the Indians. 



3i«<c 



THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD. 

THE Underground Railroad appeared in Pennsylvania 
about 1804, at Columbia. The kidnaping and shoot- 
ing of some colored persons at this place led the people 
to protect and shelter those who were seeking liberty. 

As early as 1726, John Wright and Robert Barber left 
Chester and settled along the Susquehanna River. Sev- 
eral members of the Society of Friends soon came here, 
bringing their slaves with them. Many Friends believed 
that it was wrong to keep slaves. About this time a 
number of families on the Susquehanna set their negroes 



27T 

free. In 1787, when Samuel Wright laid out the town of 
Columbia, provision was made for the free colored peo- 
ple, who gradually collected in the northern part of the 
borough, on lots given to them by the Wright family. 

A number of Quakers in Virginia gave their slaves free- 
dom, and many of these colored people were brought to 
Columbia. The reputation of the town soon spread into 
Maryland and Virginia, and it became a refuge for runa- 
way slaves. 

These people seldom ran away from good masters. But 
when they had a cruel master, or when they found them- 
selves separated from their families, and about to be sold 
to the drovers and taken to the far south, they would 
risk their lives to escape. Some followed the North Star ; 
others, the ranges of mountains. A large number came 
into Pennsylvania by way of Gettysburg, York, and the 
Susquehanna River. The slave hunters could track them 
as far as Columbia, where all trace and sign of them 
disappeared. Every possible clue was lost in this town, 
until the kidnapers declared that "there must be an 
underground railroad somewhere." 

After the fugitive-slave law of 1850 was passed, slave 
hunting became a regular business. 

The antislavery people organized, and had a secret 
understanding about hiding the runaways. A few were 
sent up the Susquehanna River, but the larger number 
were sent from station to station across Lancaster, Chester, 
Montgomery and Bucks counties. Many were sent to 
Philadelphia, where another line came in from Wilmington 
and Havre-de-Grace through Chester County. The dif- 
ferent lines of the Underground Railroad often crossed. 



2/2 

Another route entered the state in Bedford County, 
and following the mountain valleys crossed the western 
Susquehanna route. Then the runaways were forwarded 
through Potter County on their way to Canada. 

At one time an old gentleman on the Lancaster and 
Chester County route received half a dozen frightened 
fugitives. His wife was giving them ''a good square 
meal " in the cellar kitchen, when a party of kidnapers 
unexpectedly rode up to the house. The old gentleman, 
who was somewhat crippled and used a big cane, came 
out on his front porch, and invited the slave hunters 
to come in. He was very hospitable, and soon had them 
all seated in his sitting room, which was directly over the 
kitchen. They told him that they were " huntin' niggers," 
and had good reason to believe that some were hid in his 
house at that very time. They asked him if he thought it 
,was right to steal away a man's property. They grew 
angry and declared that they were going to search his 
buildings ; and as they arose for that purpose one of 
them asked him if he knew what the law was for a man 
who harbored slaves, and another asked him what he 
would do if there were " niggers " in his house now. 

"Do," said the old man in a loud voice, "Do! Why, 
I'd say, ' Run, boys, run ! ' " and with that he brought his 
big cane down on the floor with three or four resounding 
whacks, as if to emphasize what he said. The hungry 
slaves in the kitchen needed no second warning. They 
leaped out of a window, and ran across the field into the 
woods before the kidnaj^ers began to search the house. 

After wasting an hour or more hunting through the 
buildings, with the old man hobbling along with his cane. 



2/3 

they left very much dissatisfied, saying that they were 
sure that their slaves were there, because they had tracked 
them into his lane. 

At another time, when Enoch Lewis, the great mathema- 
tician, lived in New Garden, Chester County, a slave came 
to him who had run away from the far south. He was a 
preacher, and had great faith in God's protecting care. 
He had made many narrow escapes before. Enoch Lewis 
sent him to a colored man in the neighborhood for safe 
keeping. The colored man hid the preacher in a small 
cave near a stream of water. That night the slave became 
uneasy. He felt that he was in danger. Not a sound was 
heard, yet the devout old preacher said afterwards, ** Some- 
thin' spoke right inter my heart and said, ' Git up outer here 
and run.' " 

He obeyed this inward feeling, and, crawling out of the 
cave, ran to the stream of water, and after walking in that 
for a short distance he caught the overhanging branch of 
a tree and managed to climb up and hide within its thick 
foliage. He was still within sight of his little cave. 

"Jist as I got fixed," he said afterwards, "lyin' straight 
out 'long a big limb, I saw dem come, Massa, and a 
dozen more on hoss-back, hollowin' and screechin', de 
bosses at full jump, and de dogs yelpin', right up to de 
little cave whar dey 'spect to find de poor nigger. But no 
poor nigger dar. Den de dogs run about from cave to de 
creek, and from creek back to de cave, smellin' de groun'. 
De men stamp and thrash about, ride up and down de 
creek pas' my tree. De moon perty bright, but de same 
good Spirit what tell me to git away from de cave, wouldn't 
let 'em see me dar lyin' on dat limb like a coon." 



274 



RACHEL HARRIS AND THE UNDERGROUND 
RAILROAD. 

MORT" CUNNINGHAM, a slave owner in Mary- 
land, had in his possession a tall, muscular, yet 
slender and sensitive slave girl called " Rache." Cunning- 
ham hired " Rache " for a time to a man who was going 
to New Orleans for his health. " Rache " was taken 
along. Her new master grew worse, and decided to return 
home. They were on a ship. A storm came up ; the 
winds howled, and the ship lurched, until a cow on board 
bellowed with fear. " Rache " was deeply moved by the 
scene. Her master died before the ship landed. When 
the cow was driven on shore she raised her head, as soon 
as her feet touched the earth, and, snorting, dashed through 
the crowd. The captain of the ship looked at '* Rache " 
and then at the cow. The young slave needed no further 
invitation ; glancing around, she saw that her mistress was 
occupied. " Rache " immediately followed the cow and 
was out of sight in a flash. She made her way north, and 
lived for many years with Emmor Kimber, who kept a 
boarding school in northern Chester County. Here she 
went by the name of Henrietta Waters. After she 
married Isaac Harris, who was also a runaway Maryland 
slave, she came with her husband and lived in a little 
house on Miner Street in West Chester. " Rache " was 
now called Rachel Harris, and was well known and 
esteemed in the town, where for many years she made 
herself useful in washing and ironing and housecleaning. 
She was always cheerful and lively, and her clear, strong. 



275 

musical voice was heard in the evenings all over that part 
of the town. 

A large reward had been offered by Rachel's master 
for her capture. A West Chester man, who loved money 
more than a woman's liberty, answered the advertisement 
and told where Rachel was. The owner soon came from 
Maryland, and engaged a constable to go with him and 
arrest Rachel. The frightened woman was taken before 
Judge Thomas S. Bell, where the man proved her to be 
his property. 

Rachel quickly realized that she was to be taken back 
into slavery, and that she would be separated from her 
husband. The examination was held in the judge's office, 
which, at that time, was located on the southeast corner 
of Church and Miner streets. Before the hearing was 
entirely over, Rachel asked if she might step out in the 
back yard. The constable, who was a large, heavy man, 
consented, and followed her. Like a cat, the nimble 
Rachel dashed across the yard, and, to the amazement of 
the constable, sprang upon and climbed over a solid 
board fence which was seven feet high. The constable 
could not follow her. Rachel ran down alleys, and across 
streets. She dashed into a hat shop, leaping over a vat 
of boiling liquid, and frightening the men as if she were a 
ghost. She then ran into an alley back of Dr. Worthing- 
ton's stable, and rushed into the kitchen and threw her 
arms around Mrs. Worthington, crying, " For God's sake 
save me. Take me in. My master's after me." 

Mrs. Worthington tried to soothe her, but to no pur- 
pose. Rachel demanded to be hid, and was taken to the 
garret and locked in a "cubby hole." Soon after, Mr. 



276 

Worthington came home to dinner. When the family 
sat down, in their usual quiet way, nothing was said 
about Rachel. Mrs. Worthington made no mention or 
sign of anything having happened. 

Meanwhile, the constable, the slaveholder, and a party 
of men were out hunting the runaway. When they first 
rushed into the street, there was not a person to be seen 
except an old man, John Hutchinson. They asked if he 
had seen a colored woman running past. John had seen 
the woman, and wondered what she was running after. 
He quickly realized that these men were kidnapers, and 
answered, " Yes, I saw her." 

''Which way did she go .^ " they asked, eagerly. 

" Sure, and she shot along there like a rabbit," he 
answered, pointing in the opposite direction. The kid- 
napers, being thus misled, wasted the remainder of the 
forenoon hunting in the wrong side of the town. Some- 
time during the afternoon they heard that something like 
a ghost had leaped over the vat in Sammy Auge's hat 
shop. They went there and examined, and, meeting Mr. 
Worthington in the street, they asked him if he had seen 
or heard anything of her. He said he had not. Every- 
body believed what Mr. Worthington said, so the men did 
not search his house. 

The abolitionists knew that they were all closely 
watched, and if any of them attempted to take Rachel 
out of West Chester that night, they would be arrested. 
Her husband worked in the brickyard of Philip P. Sharp- 
less. This gentleman planned the escape. He knew 
that if Benjamin Price's carriage was to be seen that 
evening standing in front of the Friends' School on High 



277 

Street, no suspicion would be aroused, because Benjamin's 
sons were there at school, and he was accustomed to drive 
in on that evening of the week to take them to a lecture. 

About dusk Benjamin drove his carriage into the shed 
as usual, hitched his horses, and entered the schoolroom 
where the students were preparing their lessons. When 
the hour for the lecture arrived, Benjamin and one of his 
sons went out and got into the carriage, while the other 
students went to the lecture. 

In a few minutes Rachel Harris and her husband 
appeared, both dressed like men. A voice in the carriage 
asked, "Is that you, boys.?" "Yes," was the reply. 
" Then hop right in ; we'll be late at the lecture. We've 
an errand to do first." The drizzling rain and the dark- 
ness of the night were in their favor. They started north, 
going out High Street to attend to their errand. Then 
they turned into a byway which led to the State Road. 

They drove rapidly to Norristown and across Mont- 
gomery County, to William Johnson's, in Bucks County, 
where they arrived near ten o'clock the following morning. 
From this station on the Underground Railroad Rachel 
Harris and her husband were sent on to Canada. 



WILLIAM PARKER AND THE UNDERGROUND 
RAILROAD 

WILLIAM PARKER was a little orphan slave boy. 
After his mother's death, he was sent to the 
"qua.rters," a great, long, low building with a fireplace in 
each end, and a row of small rooms on each side. In this 

W. AND B. — l8 



278 

house were huddled together all the orphan children on 
the plantation. They often quarreled over the best places 
near the fire. Parker soon learned to secure his rights by 
the power of his fists. 

One day a crowd of men came to the plantation, and 
there was a big slave sale. Parker, who was now a good- 
sized boy, ran with a companion and climbed into a high 
pine tree. There they remained all day, listening to the 
cries and wailing of women and children who were being 
sold away from each other ; brothers from sisters, a mother 
from her children, a husband from his wife. 

That day Parker felt that he would like to be free. In 
a low tone he suggested to his companion, Levi, that they 
run off that night and go to the free states. When dark- 
ness came, Levi wanted to go and see whether his mother 
had been sold, but Parker said, " I have no mother and no 
home: I want to go to the free states." But Levi pre- 
vailed, and they went back to the quarters. 

The next year Levi was sold, and Parker remained on 
the plantation until he was seventeen. One day he was 
being whipped with an oxgoad for not going out into the 
rain to work, when he seized the stick and soundly flogged 
his master. Then, bidding him good-by, he ran across 
the fields. Seeing his brother, he beckoned to him, and 
they ran on together. 

After several days, just as they were entering York in 
Pennsylvania, they met three men, one of them a very large 
man, who stopped them, saying, " You are the niggers 
Lve been looking for." And he read from a newspaper 
advertisement a description of Parker and his brother. 
•' Now," he said, "we are going to take you back." 



279 

** No, you're not," said Parker. 

''I've taken many a runaway," replied the man, ''and 
I can take you," and with that he put one hand in his 
pocket as if to get a pistol, and with the other reached 
out to take hold of his prisoner. Parker struck the arm 
with a heavy club. It fell as if broken. A fight ensued, 
and the white men ran. The boys gave chase, determined 
to beat them more, but the men escaped. 

That night, as Parker and his brother were approaching 
Columbia, they heard voices behind them, and, dropping 
into a fence corner, they lay quiet until the men passed. 
The voice of one man they recognized as their master's. 

Nothing further happened to the runaways, and they 
came into Lancaster County and hired with some farmers 
in the vicinity of Christiana. 

The notorious *' Gap gang" made a business of helping 
the slave hunters capture runaways. Very often free 
negroes were taken. Parker organized the colored people 
to resist these invasions. One evening he was at a friend's 
house discussing the dangers surrounding a colored man's 
life, when four kidnapers knocked at the door, demanding 
to know who was inside. 

No one answered. The door was burst open, and the 
leader drew his pistol upon Parker, who, reaching for a 
heavy pair of tongs, struck the man senseless to the floor. 
The kidnapers took up their victim and ran away. They 
had been accustomed to frightening the colored people, 
who submitted as soon as caught. 

Parker was a new kind of man among them. When- 
ever he heard of a colored man being kidnaped, he 
would start in pursuit, and if he could overtake the party, 



28o 

he generally rescued the negro and brought him back. 
Once, with six men, he followed a band of kidnapers to- 
ward the Maryland line. When he overtook them, pistols 
and guns were used freely on both sides. Parker was shot 
in the leg and fell, but, rising, quickly renewed the fight. 

The kidnapers called for quarter. Parker told them 
they could have it as soon as they gave up their prisoner. 
The man was released, and brought back to Christiana 
in triumph. When Parker reached home, he took a 
penknife and cut the bullet out of his leg, and said 
nothing further about the affair. 

Another time Parker gathered his men, and rescued a 
slave from the courthouse in Lancaster. In doing this, 
Parker was contending with a superior force. Stones and 
brickbats were hurled at him, and pistols fired. 

Parker, nothing daunted, knocked men down on either 
side of him, until he cut the prisoner's cords. 

During this affair, Parker was caught and tied three 
times, and as many times he broke his bands, and fell 
to using his heavy fists. 

Lindley Coates, a member of the Society of Friends, 
said that Parker " was as bold as a lion, the kindest of 
men, and the warmest and most steadfast of friends." 

The night before the Christiana riot, a Quaker lady 
who knew Parker well urged him, if the slaveholders 
should come, not to lead the colored people to resist, not 
to oppose the fugitive-slave law by force of arms, but to 
escape to Cm ida. Parker replied that if the laws of 
the nation protected colored men as they did white men, 
he would be non-resistant, and would not fight, but would 
appeal to the laws. 



28 1 



"But," he said, '*the laws for personal protection are 
not made for us, and we are not bound to obey them. 
If a fight occurs, I want the whites to keep away. They 
have a countiy and may obey the lazvs, but we have 7io 
coimtry.'" 



LINCOLN'S MIDNIGHT RIDE THROUGH 
PENNSYLVANL^. 

WHEN Abraham Lincoln was nominated for the pres- 
idency in i860, Andrew Gregg Curtin was his warm 
friend and supporter. Curtin was also a candidate. The 
people of Pennsylvania in that year nominated and elected 
him governor, after 
a most exciting con- 
test. No one then 
could foresee that 
Curtin was destined 
to become the great 
War Governor. 

After Lincoln's 
election the hatred of 
the radical men of 
the South against 
him was wrought to 
the highest pitch. It 
was declared in more 
than one quarter that 
this enemy of slavery 
should never take office. 
he would come to Wash'ngton by way of Harrisburg and 




Governor Curtin. 



When Lincoln announced that 



282 



Baltimore, his friends learned that in the latter city his 
enemies meant to take his life. He reached Philadelphia, 
February 21, 1861, and was there informed by General 
Scott and Senator Seward that he could not pass through 
Baltimore at the time announced without grave peril to his 
life. The detectives also declared his life to be in danger. 









Lincoln hoisting the Stars and Stripes. 



He had arranged to leave Philadelphia the next morning 
and proceed to Harrisburg, address the state Legislature, 
rem n in over night as the guest of Governor Curtin, and 
the next day pass through Baltimore on his way to Wash- 
ington. Lincoln could not believe that any one would 
assassinate him. On the 22d he arose early and went to 
old Independence Hall. Here, in the presence of a large 
crowd of cheering people, he hoisted the Stars and Stripes 



283 

to the pinnacle of the historic old hall and delivered a 
noble address. Then he took the train for Harrisburg. 
Here again his friends urged him to abandon his plans 
and avoid Baltimore ; but Lincoln was still resolute. 

He then entered the House of Representatives and was 
welcomed to the capital of the Keystone State by his 
devoted friend, Governor Curtin, in an eloquent and patri- 
otic address : — 

"Sir: By act of our Legislature, we unfurl from the 
dome of the Capitol the flag of our country, carried there 
in the arms of men who defended the country when 
defense was needed. I assure you, sir, there is no star or 
stripe erased, and on its azure field there blazon forth 
thirty-four stars, the number of the bright constellation of 
states over which you are called by a free people, in a fair 
election, to preside. We trust, sir, that in the discharge 
of your high office, you may reconcile the unhappy differ- 
ences now existing, as they have heretofore been recon- 
ciled. 

** But, sir, when conciliation has failed, read our history, 
study our traditions. Here are the people who will defend 
you, the Constitution, the laws, and the integrity of this 
Union. Our great lawgiver, the founder, established this 
government of a free people in deeds of peace. We are a 
peaceful, laborious people. We believe that civilization, 
progress, and Christianity are advanced by the protection 
of free and paid labor." 

To this address the President-elect made a calm, delib- 
erate, and dignified reply. He spent the evening with Gov- 
ernor Curtin, Colonel A. K. McClure, Colonel Thomas A. 
Scott, and a number of other prominent people. Again 



284 



his friends urged him to avoid the threatened danger on 
the morrow. They reminded him that the railway coaches 
were drawn through the streets of Baltimore by horses ; 
that for this reason the chances to do him harm were 
greatly increased. After hearing them patiently, he an- 
swered, " What would the nation think of its President 
stealing into the capital like a thief in the night?" But 
^^^^ his advisers insisted, 

and he finally con- 
sented to do whatever 
they thought best. In 
this emergency, Colo- 
nel Scott, who was 
vice president of the 
Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, did the work 
of a hero. He took 
charge of all details, 
and soon cleared the 
tracks for a special 
train to Philadelphia. 
At that point Lincoln 
would catch the regular train, pass through Baltimore at 
night, and arrive in Washington at daylight. 

Colonel W. H. Lamon was selected to attend Lincoln. 
As they were about to leave the hotel for the depot, thou- 
sands of loyal citizens cheered wildly for Lincoln and the 
Union. That no one in that crowd should know of the 
new plans, Governor Curtin called out in a loud voice, 
" Drive us to the Executive Mansion." When the car- 
riage was almost there, the driver was ordered to take a 




Colonel Scott. 



285 

roundabout way to the depot. In the mean time, Scott 
and McClure had arranged for a locomotive and a single 
car. Lincoln and Lamon were not noticed by the people 
standing around as they entered the car, and with a quiet 
" Good-by, and God protect you," the train moved away 
on its momentous mission. 

As soon as the train left, Scott cut every telegraph wire 
that connected Harrisburg with the outside world. It was 
a long, anxious night for the men in the secret. No one 
could sleep. All knew that the fate of the nation was 
speeding through the darkness. The man of destiny and 
his trusted companion reached Philadelphia at eleven 
o'clock, caught the express for Washington, and sped to 
the capital. Mrs. Lincoln wept all the night through. 
At last the first glimpse of dawn, purple with the promise 
of day, swept across the eastern sky. Scott anxiously and 
nervously reunited the broken trail of the lightning mes- 
senger, and called up Washington. A solemn hush fell 
upon the waiting group in the little telegraph office. The 
sharp ''tick, tick, tick" seemed like the ring of rifles, and 
then slowly came the message, '' Plums delivered nuts 
safely." It was a secret cipher dispatch. Scott knew 
what it meant. He leaped to his feet, whirled his hat 
high in the little telegraph office, and shouted, " Lincoln's 
in Washington ! " Messengers rushed to the Jones House 
to tell the good news to the heavy-hearted wife ; and to 
the Executive Mansion to tell the governor. Soon the 
telegraph had told the world that Lincoln had in safety 
made a midnight journey to the capital. When the Balti- 
more plotters awoke on the 23rd to carry out their wicked 
plans, Lincoln was quietly resting in Washington. 



2S6 



REYNOLDS AT GETTYSBURG. 



WHEN General Robert E. Lee decided to carry the 
war into the North, he threw his army by a series of 
brilliant movements and forced marches into the valley of 
the Shenandoah. Over three thousand Union soldiers 

were surprised and cap- 
tured in and around 
Winchester. Those who 
escaped reached the Po- 
tomac at Hancock and 
Harpers Ferry. Their 
stories spread fear and 
consternation through 
the North. The farmers 
in Cumberland valle\^ 
hurried to the mountains 
with their mules and cat- 
tle. Droves of people 
with their household 
goods loaded in wagons 
crowded the roads lead- 
ing towards Harrisburg. 
The tolls at the bridge crossing the Susquehanna had 
never before been so great. 

The War Department at Washington ordered General 
Hooker with the Army of the Potomac to hasten to Harpers 
Ferry, to defend the crossing of the river at that place and 
prevent Lee from invading Pennsylvania or attacking 
Washington city. 




Statue of Reynolds, Philadelphia. 



2^7 

General Lee, however, had given Hooker the slip. 
With a few troops he held the Federal forces cooped up at 
Harpers Ferry, while he pushed the main body of his army 
into Pennsylvania. He had two purposes in view. One was 
to hold the mountain passes opening into the Shenandoah 
and Cumberland valleys, while by forced marches he could 
escape the Army of the Potomac and dictate terms of sur- 
render to Philadelphia and New York ; the other was to 
capture from the rich farmers of Pennsylvania a supply of 
cattle and horses, of which his army was sorely in need. 

By the time Lee's army was crowding the roads between 
Chambersburg and Carlisle, his raiders had followed the 
valley eastward until they saw the church spires at Harris- 
burg. Others had raised clouds of dust from Gettysburg 
and Hanover to the Susquehanna at Wrightsville, causing 
the frightened men at Columbia to burn the great bridge 
which spanned the river at that place. 

When Lee heard that the Union army had crossed the 
Potomac east of the mountains, he feared that an attempt 
might be made to cut his line of communications into the 
Shenandoah valley ; and he therefore determined to change 
the path of invasion. By crossing the mountains into the 
next valley to the southeast and threatening the defenses 
of Baltimore and Washington on the north and east, he 
was sure that he would compel the Army of the Potomac 
to fall back to defend those cities, while he would be able 
to cross the Susquehanna at Columbia instead of at 
Harrisburg as he had intended. 

He depended upon Stuart, one of his chief commanders 
of cavalry, to keep him posted about the movements of the 
Union army. Stuart by a rash move put his troops in the 



288 

rear of Meade's army, and while endeavoring to ride rapidly 
in a northeasterly direction to get around Meade's lines 
and join Ewell he was driven by Kilpatrick towards 
Hanover and York. 

Lee, not hearing from Stuart, supposed that Meade was 
not far from the north bank of the Potomac. With the 
impression that there was no enemy near he began moving 
his army slowly towards Gettysburg by way of the Cash- 
town road. 

On June 30 part of Lee's army was retracing its steps 
in Cumberland valley from Carlisle to Chambersburg. 
General Heth had pushed through the mountains and 
located himself at Cashtown. The men being sadly in 
need of shoes, Heth ordered Pettigrew to go at once to 
Gettysburg and secure all that General Ewell had not 
taken when he rushed through the town a few days before. 

Pettigrew was very much surprised when he reached 
Gettysburg to meet the Union General Buford with a 
large body of cavalry. Pettigrew, not knowing how large 
Buford's force was, fell back as far as Marsh Creek, half- 
way to Cashtown. He was afraid to expose his long line 
of wagons which were coming to be loaded with shoes. 

Meade's army was still in Maryland. Generals Reynolds 
and Buford. both Pennsylvania men, had been sent towards 
Gettysburg to clear the roads and to learn if possible the 
movements of Lee's troops. It was generally thought that 
Lee was located near Chambersburg. When Buford met 
Pettigrew in Gettysburg, June 30, he was as much surprised 
as the Confederates were. 

He knew that Reynolds was not far behind. With a 
soldier's instinct he saw that Gettysburg was a fine field 



289 

for a battle, and that the advantage would be with the 
army which first took possession. With great boldness he 
decided to risk everything in holding the ground until 
Reynolds could bring up his forces. 

A hurried message was sent to Meade and Reynolds. 
Early on the morning of July i, Buford ambushed his men 
along the banks of Willoughby Run, north of Seminary 
Ridge, and quietly waited until the enemy should arrive. 
Buford's scouts soon told him that all the roads leading 
into Gettysburg from the north were lined with Confederate 
soldiers. He well knew, when he arranged his band of 
little more than 4000 men, that the entire Confederate 
army would be upon him before the sun was very high, 
but he knew that Reynolds would come, and he knew that 
he was in Pennsylvania. These facts nerved him to risk 
everything. 

By eight o'clock in the morning the Confederate sol- 
diers are rushing down the slopes on the north side of 
Willoughby Run. They receive a murderous fire which, 
leads them to believe they have met a body of infantry. 
They do not know that men are holding Buford's horses 
in bunches in the rear. They do not know that there is 
but a handful of cavalry before them. 

They halt and prepare for a desperate encounter. Then 
with all their Southern valor they dash against Buford's 
cool-headed men. A close hand-to-hand struggle with 
carbine and sword follows. Peaceful little Willoughby 
Run grows red with blood. Can Buford's brave heroes 
hold out against superior numbers.'* How soon will Rey- 
nolds come ? Up in the tall belfry of the seminary on 
the ridge is Buford's signal staff watching the Emmetts- 



290 

burg road for Reynolds. Turning their glasses towards 
Cashtown, they see the long lines of Lee's advance column 
hurrying towards Gettysburg. 

If Reynolds does not come, Buford is lost, and these 
hills will soon be held by the Confederates. Buford has 
sent his last reserves to the front. They cannot hold out 
much longer. He rides from battery to battery, encour- 
aging the artillerymen : — '* Hold on a little longer, boys, 
and Reynolds will be here." 

The men are black with smoke and powder ; grim death 
is all around them ; stubbornly they yield the ground inch 
by inch. Buford is arranging to order a retreat, when a 
signal from the belfry tells him that Reynolds is coming. 

With bated breath the signal staff have been watching 
the Emmettsburg road. A cloud of dust rises in the dis- 
tance. Can it be Reynolds.^ Nearer it comes; a band 
of horsemen riding at full speed burst from this cloud of 
dust. " It's Reynolds, it's Reynolds, at the head of his 
staff! ■' shout the men in the belfry. They signal Buford, 
and then turn to watch this son of Pennsylvania, as the 
sparks fly from under the feet of his foaming steed. 

Buford buries the spurs in his horse and dashes towards 
the seminary. He has scarcely reached the belfry when 
he hears Reynolds shouting to him. There is no time for 
greeting : Reynolds's men are coming, and Buford is saved. 
Rapidly the hard-marched but eager troops pour over the 
slopes of Seminary Ridgj. Reynolds is all activity, ar- 
ranging his lines. There is scarcely time to take position 
before the charging Southerners are upon them. They 
cross Willoughby Run and make a dash for a clump of 
trees on the McPherson farm. This controls the Cash- 



291 

town road. Quick as a flash Reynolds realizes that this 
road must be blocked. That clump of trees must be held 
by the Union soldiers. He hurls his troops towards the 
spot. 

Leaving Wadsworth to form the right wing, Reynolds 
dashes on towards the McPherson farm, encouraging his 
soldiers by his example. The attack has scarcely com- 




House to which the Body of General Reynolds was carried. 

menced when a cruel bullet strikes Reynolds in the head, 
and h^ dies without a word. 

While the sorrow-stricken soldiers were carrying Rey- 
nolds's body from the field, the Southern prisoners seemed 
to be as much moved by the loss as the Union soldiers. 
Reynolds had been military governor at Fredericksburg, 
and the South joined with the North in mourning his death. 



292 

The officers in the Union army all respected and loved 
him. His clear judgment and cool self-control were ad- 
mired by all who knew him. Yet his loss only kindled the 
ardor of his soldiers. They fought on native soil, and 
they fought to avenge the loss of their leader. Reynolds, 
though dead, seemed yet alive. His clear mind had planned 
the day's struggle. His timely and prompt arrival held 
the Southern army north of Seminary Ridge until near 
night. Buford selected the battlefield, but Reynolds made 
it possible for Meade to place his troops on Cemetery 
Ridge, south of Gettysburg, during the night of July i, 
stretching his lines from Gulps Hill to the Round Tops. 

Reynolds by his death secured Meade the advantage in 
the following two days' struggle, when the fate of the 
Union was settled on Pennsylvania soil. 




The Reynolds Monument. Gettysburg. 



293 



IN THE REAR AT GETTYSBURG. 

WHEN the startling news came that General Lee was 
at Chambersburg and that his soldiers had taken 
all the provisions and horses they could find, Mrs. Bayly, 
whose farm lay north of Gettysburg, determined to save 
her horses and flour. 

A few weeks before the battle of Gettysburg Mr. Bayly 
had brought home the great farm wagon loaded with barrels 
of flour. It was their custom to have all their wheat ground 
in June and the flour stored for future sales. 

Under Mrs. Bayly's direction, the boys and men brought 
the wagon to the woodhouse and carefully placed the 
barrels in a row on the ground. Then the great ranks 
of wood which had been cut with a circular saw for house 
use were neatly piled all around and over the flour. With 
the aid of a few boards this was done in such a manner 
that the flour was kept perfectly dry. When the work 
was finished, one saw only a huge pile of wood ready for 
the cook stove. 

To save the horses, it was agreed that they should be 
driven into the sheep pen, which was under the corner of 
the barn, and that sheaves of rye straw should be piled 
against the door which opened into it. 

On the morning of July i, Mrs. Bayly grew curious and 
walked out upon the hill to see if the Confederates were 
coming. Silence and beauty were all around her. The 
stillness seemed oppressive. " How like a Sabbath morn- 
ing ! " she thought. ** Even the chickens are not crowing 
as usual." 

W. AND B. — 19 



294 

To the south lay Gettysburg, sleeping in the morning 
sunlight. Beyond was Cemetery Ridge, stretching far to 
the southwest, where Little and Big Round Top stood 
like a pair of sentinels watching the Baltimore pike to the 
east, and the Emmettsburg road on the west. 

Mrs. Bayly strained her eyes, shading them with her 
hands, but was unable to see soldiers anywhere. Sud- 
denly a great gun was fired, and a shell flew through the 
air. That was the signal for battle. As if by magic the 
hills seemed to be moving with crowds of soldiers, whose 
bayonets glistened in the morning sunlight. 

It is not possible for Mrs. Bayly to see how General 
Buford, the brave Pennsylvania cavalry officer, has am- 
bushed his little command of near four thousand men and 
is heroically trying to block the progress of Lee's^army 
until General Reynolds, followed by Meade's entire army, 
shall come to his relief. With a quick glance she realizes 
that the battle is commencing on Willoughby Run, north 
of Seminary Ridge. A neighbor tells her that it will 
not be safe to remain on the hill, and she hurries away. 
While she is crossing the field, within sight of her home, 
a small body of Southern horsemen take her prisoner. 

*' How long will you keep me away from home ? " asked 
Mrs. Bayly, unconscious of all danger. " Let me go down 
to the house and tell the children when Fll be back, and 
then ni go with you." 

The polite Southern captain raised his cap and smiled. 
A soldier was detailed to guard Mrs. Bayly. She immedi- 
ately called to one of the children, who was at the attic 
window, to come and meet her in the field. The soldier, 
not following his prisoner closely, did not hear her tell the 



295 

child to have the boys hide the horses in the sheep pen 
and stack the straw before the door. 

After a few hours the soldiers concluded that Mrs. 
Bayly was an unprofitable prisoner, and she was allowed 
to go home. When she reached the edge of her wheat 
field, she met a party of Confederate cavalry preparing to 
take out the bars in order to ride directly through the 
wheat to the barn, where they wished to water their 
horses. 

''Gentlemen," said Mrs. Bayly, ** that's wheat. You'll 
ruin the crop if you all ride through there. I beg of you 
to go around by the orchard, as we always do." 

This amused their leader, who ordered his men to ride 
around the field to the barn. During the entire three 
days of the battle this field of wheat was preserved un- 
touched. The soldiers took all the corn meal Mrs. Bayly 
had, preferring this to some flour she had in one barrel. 
They never knew what stores were hid in the woodpile 
or even the sheep pen. 

Unfortunately, after the battle was over, the hired man, 
thinking that the Confederates were all gone, carried a 
bundle of hay by daylight to the little window of the 
sheep pen. Some Confederate stragglers in the edge of 
the woods, seeing this, shrewdly concluded that horses 
were hidden there; and they came and took them all 
away. 

The Confederate cavalry were almost constantly around 
Mrs. Bayly's during the three days of the battle, but they 
always treated her with respect and kindness. One day 
a slender boy in the Confederate cavalry looked with tired 
and hollow eyes at the comfortable home and farm around 



296 

him. He had never seen anything like it before. Late 
that night Mrs. Bayly heard a soft knock at her back 
kitchen door. With much caution, and in a low voice, she 
asked who was there before she opened the door. 

" I want to come and live with you," she heard a low 
voice answer ; " I've deserted from the Rebel army. I'm 
so tired. They forced me into the service. I can't hold 
out any longer." Without striking a light Mrs. Bayly let 
him into the shed kitchen and gave him a suit of old 
clothes, telling him where in the garden to bury his own 
worn uniform. The next day some of the Southern 
troopers noticed this slender lad, and one of them re- 
marked, " Your boy, madam, looks tall enough to be in 
the army; why didn't he enter the service.?" 

*' Oh," said Mrs. Bayly, quickly, " we have men enough 
to go to war. We don't have to send our boys." 

Her remark turned their attention away from the boy. 
This Southern lad remained for several years on the old 
Bayly farm. After the first day's battle Mrs. Bayly took a 
horse which was too old to tempt the raiders, and filling 
the saddlebags with provisions, lint, and bandages, started 
out to see whether she could not help the wounded and the 
dying. When she reached the scene of the battle she 
found the dead and the wounded scattered along both 
sides of the road, in the gutters and fence corners. She 
called upon the Union soldiers to raise their hands. She 
gave them something to eat and drink, bound up their 
wounds, and received many a dying message. One poor 
soldier thanked her faintly for the proffered food, saying, 
•' I can't live much longer ; give it to that Johnnie there, 
it'll help him." 



297 



WILLIAM PENN'S BURIAL PLACE. 

A GOOD question for debate is this : Resolved, that 
William Penn did a greater service to the world in 
founding Pennsylvania than in preaching the Quaker 
doctrine. 

In 1 88 1, the Legislature and governor of this common- 
wealth decided this question in the affirmative, and Gov- 
ernor Hoyt sent one of Philadelphia's most noble citizens 
to England to obtain permission of the heirs, the com- 
mittee of the Friends' meeting in charge of Jordan's 
burying ground, where Penn lies buried, and the English 
government, to remove the remains to Philadelphia and 
lay them to rest in the sacred soil of his own beloved 
state. The commissioner selected for this important duty 
was Mr. George L. Harrison. 

Although Mr. Harrison did everything in his power to 
succeed, he was obliged to return much disappointed. 
The committee of the Quaker meeting had for its chair- 
man Mr. Richard Littleboy, and he acted more like a 
small boy than a great man on this occasion. He decided 
before seeing Mr. Harrison that the body of William 
Penn should remain in the forsaken old burying ground 
of Jordan's. 

But the mission was not wholly in vain. It called 
attention to the fact that William Penn, one of the fore- 
most men of the world, lies in a neglected grave in a 
s'^icluded spot in England, not far from Stoke Pogis, 
where Gray, the poet, sleeps beside his mother in the 
country churchyard made memorable by his elegy. 



298 



The burial place of William Penn is near the Burnham 
Beeches, and not far from Chalfont, where Milton fled 
to escape the plague. Close by is Isaac Pennington's 
" Grange " at Chalfont. Here Penn visited his friend 
Isaac Pennington and was introduced to the latter's step- 
daughter. The minutes of the monthly meeting of that 
district tell the result. 




The Grange. 

"In the twelfth month, 1671, William Penn, of Wal- 
thamstow, in the county of Essex, and Gulielma Maria 
Springett, of Tilers End Green, in the parish of Penn, 
proposed their intention of taking each other in marriage." 

As the rule is among the P'riends, they were obliged to 
wait till the next meeting for a decision. The follow- 
ing minute shows that William and Gulielma were made 
happy : — 



299 



*' In the first month, 1672, the consent and approval of 
Friends was given thereto." 

Jordan's meeting house, where Penn and his family 
are buried, is a one-and-a-half story building of brick 
with a roof of tiles. In front of the main entrance is the 
graveyard. The stones which mark the graves are plain 



^:-^ 



^IRiSJ??.''-^' 



>m. mm^^^ 



..■.<„t:^^A^.V>JieL4- 




William Penn's Grave. 



marble, about two feet above ground, and on them, plainly 
cut, are the names of those buried beneath. The whole 
place is badly kept, grass long and uncut, fences and 
gates broken down ; and only one meeting is held here in 
a year. 

Penn's body may remain here for all time, and it may 
some day be lifted in its leaden casket, carried across the 
Atlantic Ocean, and laid to rest in the heart of the great 
city he founded, by the beautiful river he made famous, 



300 

and in the midst of a devoted people whose ancestors he 
loved. 

But his noble life, his devotion to his family and his 
church, his hatred of slavery, his respect for the wild 
Indian, his s^reat system of government, and his wise 
savings, will be remembered and recalled with tender 
reirard forever. 



TvpocRAriiv lY I. S. CisHiNi. iS: Co., Nokwood, Mass., r..s.A. 



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